The  Old  Corner  Book 
Store,  Inc. 


Boston, 


Mass. 


THE  BLACK  DROP 


THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

NEW  YORK    •    BOSTON   •    CHICAGO   •    DALLAS 
ATLANTA    •    SAN   FRANCISCO 

MACMILLAN  &   CO.,  LIMITED 

LONDON   •    BOMBAY   •    CALCUTTA 
MELBOURNE 

THE  MACMILLAN  CO.  OF  CANADA,  LTD. 

TORONTO 


THE   BLACK  DROP 


BY 

ALICE  BROWN 

AUTHOR   OF 
'THE   PRISONER,"   "BROMLEY  NEIGHBORHOOD,"   ETC. 


||0tit 

THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

1919 

All  rights  reserved 


COPYRIGHT,  1919, 
BY  ALICE  BROWN. 


Set  up  and  electrotyped.     Published  September,  1919. 


Nortoooli 

J.  S.  Gushing  Co.  —  Berwick  &  Smith  Co. 
Norwood,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


THE  BLACK  DROP 


THE  BLACK  DROP 


SINCE  the  war  has  knocked  out  from  under  us  the  foun 
dations  of  old  conformities,  it  is  difficult  to  decide  whether 
to  write  the  story  of  those  men  and  women  who  walk  the 
pages  of  that  reality  called  fiction  before  1914  or  after. 
For  they  would  be  found,  if  they  are  malleable  enough  to 
be  worth  writing  about  at  all,  distinctly  different  people 
before  and  after  that  date.  This  story  is  about  the 
Tracys,  and  the  Tracys,  when  the  world  fell  apart  and 
tried  to  weld  itself  together  again,  were  not  the  Tracys 
who  were  acted  on  by  the  catastrophe  and  the  welding 
process.  They  often  looked  back,  individuals  of  the  fam 
ily,  at  their  old  selves  of  a  few  years  agone  and  felt,  in  a 
dazed  groping,  that  such  Tracys  weren't  recognizable  by 
present  standards.  Then  they  had  been  at  ease  in  a  secure 
prosperity,  living  delightfully  at  Grasslands,  their  inher 
ited  estate  on  the  Massachusetts  coast,  and  able  to  spend 
an  occasional  month  in  New  York  or  Boston,  or  the  more 
aggressive  springs  in  Florida.  Norris,  the  father  of  the 
family,  who  wrote  novels  much  respected  by  the  intellectual 
upper  class  and  compiled  textbooks  that  brought  in  an 
absurd  income  for  the  amount  of  live  interest  he  put  into 
them,  was  sagging  a  little  toward  the  least  picturesque  at 
titude  of  middle  life.  He  had  not  done  what  youth  had 
led  him  to  believe  he  might  do.  He  had  neither  tapped  the 
B  1 


2  THE   BLACK   DROP 

Muses'  fount  nor  held  a  mirror  up  to  nature  with  any 
distinctive  brilliancy,  and  at  times  he  felt  this  bitterly. 
But  the  bitterness  came  less  and  less  frequently,  as  he  went 
further  into  the  doldrums  of  physical  moderation,  and  he 
realized,  with  a  wry  humor  of  acquiescence,  that  some  day 
it  would  cease  to  come  at  all.  Then  he  would  be  old,  and 
in  that  he  would  again  acquiesce  until  the  tide  of  life 
ebbed  and  ebbed,  still  gently  and  inexorably,  and  he  would 
be  dead.  But  he  knew  all  the  great  calls  upon  him,  whether 
he  had  answered  them  adequately  or  not,  had  pretty  well 
ceased.  He  had  worked  and  loved.  There  was  the  end 
of  it.  Whatever  life,  the  deceptive  taskmistress  who  is 
always  offering  lures  for  her  own  hidden  ends,  might  want 
done  now,  she  would  thrust  into  younger  hands. 

In  October,  1916,  the  family  moved  up  to  Boston  and 
they  had  been  there  a  week  before  Charles,  the  eldest  son, 
married  and  living  within  an  easy  walking  mile,  had  come 
to  see  them.  Charles  had  bought  the  house  at  the  West 
End  and  offered  it  to  them  rent  free,  reminding  them  they 
had  not  left  Grasslands  in  two  years,  and  it  was  time  they 
did.  It  wasn't  going  to  do  the  Allies  any  good,  he  said, 
for  them  to  stay  down  there,  economising  and  stewing 
about  things  that  weren't  their  business  anyway,  only  to 
make  bandages  and  send  stuff  over  to  France.  We'd  got 
to  go  on  living,  whatever  happened  to  France.  Business 
as  usual  was  the  only  sane  slogan,  and  if  we  lived  up  to 
that  we  should  find  ourselves  in  a  position  to  help  the  Allies 
out  when  the  infernal  muddle  was  cleared  up.  If  we 
didn't,  we  should  be  as  deep  in  the  soup  as  they  were  now. 
His  father  listened  to  him,  opened  his  mouth,  shut  it  again, 
was  glad  John,  the  other  son,  wasn't  there  to  hear,  since 
he  was  only  too  ready  to  get  up  a  scrap  with  Charles 
(which  really  didn't  do  any  good  in  the  end  because 


THE   BLACK   DROP  3 

Charles  wasn't  to  be  moved  by  scrapping)  and  said  mildly 
Charles  might  be  right  about  a  winter  in  town  and  they'd 
think  it  over.  And  it  proved  on  consultation  that 
Emily,  his  wife,  agreed  with  him,  though  it  would  have 
taken  all  the  domestic  gods  in  conclave  to  decide 
whether  she  did  this  of  her  own  free  will  or  because  she 
thought  he  wanted  it.  Norris  refused  his  son's  gift  of 
the  lease  because,  when  he  had  known  anything  actual 
about  Charles's  affairs,  they  were  always  in  a  precarious 
state  of  flux ;  and  so  Charles  compromised  on  a  nom 
inal  rental.  And  when  the  family,  after  a  fleeting  glimpse 
at  the  house  by  Norris  and  his  younger  son,  John,  had 
come  up  with  the  servants,  whose  faithfulness  took  back 
to  an  elder  time,  they  found  it  of  a  rare  perfection.  It 
was  an  old  house  "  on  the  hill  "  with  a  view  of  the  Charles 
and  an  oblique  pathway  for  the  eye  to  green  trees ;  and 
within,  though  it  was  undeniably  shabby,  this  was  the 
shabbiness  of  age  and  homely  living.  It  looked  as  if  it 
had  suffered  nothing  from  time,  but  simply  coincided  in 
the  kindly  use  human  beings  had  given  it.  It  didn't  seem 
like  a  house  the  Tracys  had  hired,  but  one  they  had  inher 
ited  and  of  which  they  knew  the  backward  steps  from 
age  to  youth.  It  had  all  the  concomitants  of  beauty  in  a 
building  of  the  right  period:  shutters,  wainscoting,  open 
fireplaces  of  a  dulled  and  mellowed  brick  and  generous 
hearths.  It  was  fittingly  provided  with  beautiful  furni 
ture  of  an  antique  type,  and  the  general  harmony  of  the 
whole  thing,  like  "  the  marriage  of  true  minds,"  enabled 
them  to  settle  with  an  amazing  lack  of  difficulty. 

Why  had  they  come  up  from  Grasslands  where  Norris 
had  been  so  snugly  fitted  in  for  his  entire  lifetime,  writing 
his  schoolbooks  which  earned  him  money  and  his  novels 
which  didn't,  that  his  neighbors  would  have  said  you 


4  THE    BLACK   DROP 

couldn't  pry  him  out  for  more  than  a  flitting,  here  or 
there?  Why,  except  that  Charles  had  urged  them  to  it? 
Norris,  after  he  forgot  Charles  was  urging,  gave  him 
self  plausible  reason  for  it.  John,  the  second  son  —  curt 
name  for  a  handsome  blonde  youth  with  a  dashing  profile 
line  and  a  limp  that  kept  him  from  robust  pursuits  —  was 
on  fire  with  eagerness  to  do  something  tremendous  for  the 
war,  and  there  was  nothing  he  could  do  adequate  to  his 
desires.  He,  like  his  father,  had  a  knack  at  words. 
They'd  got  to  serve  him  for  weapons  since  the  limp  and  the 
recurrent  pain  of  it  held  him  down  and  was  going  to  hold 
him,  he  was  told,  all  his  mortal  days.  He  began  writing, 
fiery  things,  advisory,  beseeching  things,  and  got  them  in 
wherever  he  could,  sometimes  as  letters  only.  And  while 
he  fumed  at  the  war,  his  father  grew  gray  over  it  and  said 
one  night  to  his  wife  in  the  moon-lighted  splendor  of  their 
room  at  Grasslands  —  a  chamber  of  care  now,  since 
Europe  was  on  fire,  dear  shrines  destroyed,  dear  heart  of 
England  aching: 

"  Emily,  what  if  we  should  move  up  to  town?  " 
You  could  hardly  ever  tell  what  Emily  was  thinking. 
She  had  lived  that  effective  masquerade  of  woman's  ser 
vice  to  men  and  houses  for  over  thirty  years  now,  and 
Norris  knew  he  didn't  easily  find  out  what  she  wanted  done 
—  only  what  she  thought  best  should  be  done.  And  now, 
in  their  moon-lighted  seclusion,  he  was  at  once  aware  he 
had  taken  the  wrong  time  and  setting  to  interrogate  her. 
He  couldn't  even  see  her  face,  smooth,  sympathetic  mask  as 
it  was  of  her  yieldingness  and  earnest  foresight  for  the 
family  good.  The  moonlight  had  blotted  her  out,  as  ef 
fectually  as  darkness.  There  she  was,  her  hair  a  shadow 
and  her  face  an  outline  merely,  drowned  on  her  pillow. 
But  after  all,  he  told  himself,  if  he  had  put  the  question 


THE   BLACK   DROP  5 

by  day,  and  tried  to  strike  out  some  spark  of  her  personal 
will  or  liking,  he  wouldn't  have  succeeded.  She  answered 
him  at  once: 

"  You  mean  on  account  of  John?  " 

Now  he  hadn't  at  all  meant  on  account  of  John,  but  he 
seized  upon  it  as  a  more  or  less  valid  pretext. 

"  Don't  you  think  yourself,"  he  said,  "  John  would  make 
better  headway  if  he  could  be  in  town,  chum  in  with  other 
fellows  and  perhaps  get  a  job  on  a  paper?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  said.  "  It  isn't  quite  the  same,  living  down 
here  and  going  up  every  week." 

They  said  no  more  that  night.  He  judged  it  best  to  let 
her  think  it  over ;  and  besides  he  was  so  enamored  of  giving 
a  simple  reason  for  a  complex  motive  that  he  wanted  to 
think  that  over,  too.  He  had  his  own  private  sense  of 
humor  that  nobody,  except  his  father  perhaps,  a  man 
really  old  and  crippled  by  gout,  ever  tapped.  What  was 
the  reason  he  wanted  to  move  away  from  Grasslands? 
Was  it  because  Charles  had  suggested  it,  had  made  the 
practical  detail  of  it  easy  and  set  the  pace  of  their  prep 
aration?  Not  at  all,  he  would  have  said.  The  truth  was 
that  the  family  pretty  well  had  forgotten  which  among 
them  had  really  suggested  it.  That  was  the  way  with 
Charles's  projects.  He  never  hurled  them  at  you  with  an 
impact  that  knocked  you  down  and  a  directness  that  told 
you  the  path  they  came.  He  was  the  cleverest  of  propa 
gandists.  You  might  be  reading  a  book  that  set  you  the 
recipe  for  getting  your  own  dear  wishes,  and  Charles  would 
come  noiselessly  up  and  slip  another  bit  of  paper  over  the 
printed  page,  and  smile  at  you  when  you  frowned  and  re 
minded  him  you  were  reading.  And  you  always  went  back 
to  the  slip  of  paper,  and  you  always  found  it  contained 
something  Charles  wanted  you  to  do,  to  the  exclusion  of 


6  THE    BLACK    DROP 

what  you  had  determined  on  doing  yourself.  And  the 
artful  beauty  of  it  was  that,  after  he  had  persuaded  you 
to  do  it,  he  always  dropped  out  of  the  matter,  so  that  you 
were  left  with  the  saving  certainty  that  you  had  made  your 
decision  unaided  and  in  accordance  with  intimate  reasons 
nobody  could  possibly  have  furnished  you. 

Norris  Tracy,  well  as  he  knew  the  elusive  art  of  Charles, 
had  fallen  back  upon  his  own  reasons  for  getting  away, 
and  they  were  sufficiently  cogent.  He  wanted,  at  this 
time  of  the  world's  agony,  the  nearness  of  his  kind.  The 
war  had  first  roused  him,  then  lashed  and  beaten  him ;  he 
was  sore  all  over.  The  accustomed  comforts  of  a  careless 
life,  which  he,  like  his  neighbors,  had  once  lived  as  if  the  hell 
of  poverty  and  the  heh1  of  terror  beyond  their  borders 
were  non-existent,  were  dreadful  to  him  and  bread  was 
bitter  in  his  mouth.  And  like  thousands  in  America  in 
those  first  years  of  the  war  when  there  was  nothing  but 
palliatives  to  offer  a  world  in  flames,  bandages  and  money 
and  words  —  better  than  no  offering  at  all,  yet  terrible  in 
their  inefficacy  —  he  was  going  wild  over  his  own  inaction. 
And  the  great  spaces  of  the  country,  even  the  faithful 
stars  at  night,  reproached  him  with  a  beauty  he  could  not 
attain  unto  because  he  and  his  countrymen  were  living  in 
the  little  house  of  world-poverty  instead  of  the  chosen  halls 
of  a  rich  abnegation.  And  as  it  is  when  a  forest  fire  drives 
all  the  beasts  of  the  wild  together  in  a  headlong  rush  for 
life,  hereditary  foe  with  foe,  herded  in  a  common  danger, 
he  felt,  in  this  conflagration  of  the  world,  he  must  join  the 
stampede.  But  Emily,  he  thought,  wouldn't  suspect  that. 
Let  her  judge  the  case  on  the  merits  of  an  apparent  reason. 

Next  morning  after  breakfast  he  went  up  to  his  father's 
room,  where  the  old  man,  living  in  a  state  of  ironic  patience 
toward  death  and  life  also,  would  have  risen  early  to  sit  in 


THE   BLACK   DROP  7 

stark  misery,  a  rug  spread  over  his  gouty  legs.  There  he 
was  at  his  table,  the  beautiful  old  man,  his  fine  thin  face 
touched  with  a  patent  scorn  as  if  he  expected  the  world 
and  all  its  humbler  men  to  be  his  servitors,  and  yet  was 
scornful,  Norris  knew,  only  of  his  gout  and  the  pains  that 
were  never  going  to  make  him  wince  outwardly.  He  was 
holding  the  morning  paper  before  him  in  his  fine  white 
hands  —  and  even  the  hands,  Norris  knew,  his  father  hated 
because  they  had  grown  delicate  from  disuse  and  age. 
This  was  a  man  who  had  loved  the  life  of  the  body  and  the 
growing  things  of  earth.  He  had  been  the  able  manager 
of  a  mill  and  made  his  money  from  it,  and  set  out  the 
orchards  of  Grasslands  and  grafted  the  trees.  And  now 
he  was  waiting  in  a  proud  immobility,  like  the  Roman  sena 
tors  in  their  ivory  chairs,  for  the  coming  of  the  foe  —  only 
the  enemy  he  awaited  was  death,  and  the  forerunner  of 
death  was  already  at  his  muscles,  stiffening  them  with 
beastly  pains,  and  these,  too,  he  defied.  He  laid  down  his 
paper,  as  Norris  came  in,  and  took  off  his  glasses,  holding 
them  in  one  hand  and  gesticulating  with  them  in  an  uncon- 
sidered  way.  The  two  were  alike,  yet  unlike,  father  and 
son,  Norris  with  the  same  fine  line  of  nose  and  brow, 
though  he  was  neutral  in  his  coloring  and  his  father's  white 
hair  had  once  been  black.  Norris  began  abruptly,  not  by 
asking  how  his  father  was,  for  that  was  tacitly  discour 
aged,  but  with  his  question : 

"  Father,  what  should  you  say  to  taking  a  house  in 
Boston  and  moving  up  there,  the  whole  push?  " 

Grandsir  —  for  he  was  called  so  ordinarily  in  the  house 
-  did  not  hesitate  a  second. 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  "  you've  hit  it.  For  God's  sake,  do  it  and 
do  it  now.  We  shall  all  go  crazy  down  here  watching  for 
the  papers  and  balancing  Washington  and  Germany  and 


8 

trying  to  say  the  things  we  don't  believe  because  it's  for 
the  country's  stability.  Yes,  take  a  house.  If  it's  on  a 
car  line  so  much  the  better.  Let's  have  some  noise.  Let's 
see  people  going  by.  Norris,  last  night  there  was  a  great 
blue  star  —  blue  as  steel  and  fire  it  was  —  that  stared  at 
me  through  that  window,  and  if  I  hadn't  been  so  stiff  I'd 
have  got  out  of  bed  and  taken  a  shot  at  it." 

"  I  know  that  star,"  said  Norris.  He  knew  his  father, 
too.  His  father  didn't  have  to  translate  himself  for  him. 
"  It's  been  saying  some  queer  things." 

"  They've  no  business  to  stare  in  at  the  window,"  said 
the  old  man,  "  and  say  such  things  to  us  when  we  can't 
shoulder  a  musket  and  go.  Yes,  you  take  a  house,  Norris. 
What  does  Emily  say?  " 

Norris  smiled  at  him  in  a  knowing  silence.  He  and  his 
father  never  exchanged  any  confidences  about  Emily,  but 
he  fancied  grandsir  knew  well  enough  how  she  paced 
soberly  along  over  the  domestic  surface  of  things.  And  as 
he  sat  looking  at  his  father  the  resemblance  between  them 
and  the  difference  would  have  been  vivid  to  a  keen  ob 
server.  Norris  had  as  fine  a  face  perhaps  and  the  line  of 
profile  was  almost  exactly  the  same.  But  there  was  no 
scorn  in  it  —  he  had  not  yet  been  called  on  to  give  up  his 
activities  and  seat  himself  in  the  ivory  chair  —  only  a 
wistful,  tender  sort  of  look  not  often  seen  in  men  without 
an  alloy  of  weakness.  And  he  was  wearied  now,  wearied 
almost  to  the  death  of  all  unreasoning  hopes  and 
certainties. 

"  She  thinks,"  he  said,  « it'll  be  good  for  John." 

"Oh,"  said  the  old  man,  "John.  Well,  John  could 
keep  on  going  up,  I  suppose,  without  moving  the  whole 
family.  He  could  get  himself  some  sort  of  a  roosting 
place." 


THE   BLACK   DROP  9 

"  Yes,"  said  Norris,  with  a  kindly  concession  to  Emily's 
point  of  view,  "  only  that's  the  way  it  strikes  her." 

The  old  man  looked  at  him  with  the  slightest  smile  that 
Norris,  with  some  surprise,  thought  rather  satirical ;  but 
he  didn't  speak.  And  Norris  couldn't  ask  him  what  it 
meant.  It  was  a  point  of  honor  not  to  ask  grandsir  any 
thing  personal,  now  he  had  such  miseries  to  combat.  But 
we  may  know,  through  the  omniscience  of  the  onlooker, 
that  grandsir  was  really  thinking  there  were  things  about 
Emily  that  Norris,  clever  as  he  was  with  his  unpopular 
novels  and  his  productive  schoolbooks,  didn't  know  at  all. 

Later  in  the  day  Emily  came  in  to  ask  grandsir  if  she 
might  put  a  plant  in  his  window  because  he  got  the  first 
sun.  She  never  asked  him  if  he  wanted  this  or  that 
or  how  he  felt,  and  now  while  she  disposed  the  plant  with 
an  anxious  care,  as  if  one  inch  to  the  right  or  left  would 
affect  its  well-being,  he  gazed  at  her  with  an  amused  but 
wholly  affectionate  smile.  She  was  a  slender  woman  of 
quick  movements,  a  thin  face  that  somehow  suggested  an 
admirable  bony  structure  underneath,  and  sanguine  col 
ored  hair  parted  and  put  back  smoothly,  but  so  thick  and 
with  such  a  life  in  it  that  you  felt  it  couldn't  be  governed 
entirely  by  masterly  hands  or  the  most  determined  pins. 
Her  expression  —  that  is  difficult  to  qualify.  It  was  in 
terrogative  and  yet  of  itself  dumb.  You  felt  she  wanted  to 
know  a  great  many  things  about  life,  but,  for  reasons  of 
her  own,  had  found  it  wise  to  tell  nothing.  She  was  not 
secretive ;  only  the  wisdom  of  events  had  not  been  made 
plain  to  her,  and  she  couldn't  express  her  own  conclusions 
until  she  knew  more  about  the  whole  business  of  being  than 
she  was  likely  to  find  out  by  asking.  And  besides,  she 
couldn't  ask ;  even  a  question  might  upset  the  balance  of 
issues  in  the  domestic  world.  When  she  had  disposed  the 


10  THE    BLACK   DROP 

plant  to  an  exacting  ideal,  she  turned  and  paused  an  in 
stant  looking  at  grandsir  with  her  slight  wavering  smile 
that  was  little  more  than  a  tremulous  change  in  the  con 
tour  of  the  mouth.  She  wasn't  going  to  challenge  any 
emotion  you  hadn't  been  predisposed  to,  only  she  did  want 
you  to  see  she  felt  gently  toward  you.  Grandsir  often  saw 
she  had  these  instants  of  unobtrusive  waiting  after  she  had 
finished  a  task  in  his  room ;  they  were  meant  to  give  him  a 
chance  to  speak  more  fully  to  her. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  I  judge  you  think  it's  better  for 
Norris  to  move  in  town  for  the  winter." 

She  knew  perfectly  well  that  Norris  must  have  said  she 
thought  it  better  for  John.  That  was  all  he  could  tell, 
for  it  was  all  he  knew.  But  grandsir  had  pierced  the  sur 
face  of  the  apparent  —  the  accepted  —  to  the  truth  within 
her.  He  always  did  that,  and  there  was  no  sense  in  com 
bating  him,  because  indubitably  he  knew.  And  she  did  not 
want  to  sift  and  perhaps  smother  his  knowledge.  This  room 
was  the  one  clear  spot  in  the  house  where  she  could  answer 
yes  and  no  without  regard  to  the  expediency  of  things. 

"  Yes,"  she  said.    "  He's  taking  the  war  pretty  hard." 

"  What's  Charles  say  about  it?  " 

"  Oh,"  said  Emily,  "  he  wants  us  to  do  it  —  wants  it 
ever  so  much,  I  judged." 

"  Why  does  he?  " 

"  I  don't  know." 

She  stood  there  folding  a  little  green  leaf  over  and  over, 
gazing  at  it  absorbedly  as  if  her  interest  lay  in  the  fold 
ing.  Then  she  recalled  herself,  looked  up  at  grandsir 
with  an  actual  smile  now,  a  brightness  that  always  warmed 
him  in  a  pronounced  implication  of  good  feeling  between 
them,  and  went  away  about  her  tasks. 

And   now   the   Tracys   were   settled   in   the   new  house, 


THE   BLACK   DROP  11 

grandsir  in  an  upper  room,  according,  as  he  said,  to  the 
ironies  of  life,  whereby  it  is  decreed  that  they  who  have  no 
legs  shall  be  given  stairs  to  climb.  Norris  remonstrated 
strongly :  if  father  were  on  the  second  floor  he  would,  said 
Norris,  be  so  much  nearer  them  all.  But  Emily  didn't 
consider  that  for  an  instant.  Even  while  he  proved  his 
point,  she  was  making  grandsir's  bed  up  there  where  he 
wanted  it  to  be.  He  didn't  like  contiguity  to  that  intri 
cate  turmoil  which  is  called  life.  He  wanted  to  dwell 
in  a  circle  of  stillness  with  his  past  and  the  approaching 
phantom  of  the  future,  no  more  mysterious.  And  when  it 
had  been  a  week  and  Charles,  the  eldest  son,  hadn't  come 
and  Helen  his  wife  didn't  even  telephone,  Charles  ap 
peared,  on  an  early  evening,  announcing  that  he  had  been 
in  Washington  and  just  got  back.  His  mother,  hearing 
his  voice,  left  the  dinner  table  and  went  into  the  hall  to 
meet  him,  and  there,  before  taking  off  his  coat,  he  envel 
oped  her  in  a  hug  and  asked : 

"  How's  everybody  ?  " 

Perhaps  she  didn't  really  answer,  for  he  never  waited 
for  answers  and  this  she  knew ;  and  at  the  same  moment  he 
had  taken  her  arm  and  was  convoying  her  back  to  the 
dining-room.  And  there  he  sat  down  at  a  corner  of  the 
table  and  said  Yes,  he  would  have  coffee.  He  was  off 
his  feed  a  little  lately.  He'd  dropped  about  fifteen  pounds, 
—  worry,  he  guessed.  And  then  he  laughed  his  infectious 
laugh.  Norris  looked  up  at  him  with  the  mildly  ques 
tioning  glance  he  always  gave  him  after  absence,  when  he 
had  time  to  forget  just  how  Charles  looked.  Charles 
"  took  back  "  to  a  seventeenth  century  ancestor  who  was 
sallow  and  lean  with  a  heavy  brow  and  small  eyes  and  an 
obstinate  chin.  Norris  had  a  portrait,  atrociously 
painted,  of  that  ancestor,  and  whenever  he  saw  it  —  for  it 


12  THE    BLACK   DROP 

hung  in  the  shadows  of  a  dark  hall  at  Grasslands  and 
the  family,  with  relief  unspoken,  had  left  it  behind  them  — 
he  thought  how  appropriate  the  face  would  be  for  a  witch- 
burning,  man-hanging  judge;  and  sometimes  when 
Charles's  face  came  on  him  suddenly  he  wondered  whether 
Charles  also  wasn't  of  the  type  of  an  obstinate  bully  who 
needed  only  opportunity  to  do  strange  deeds  to  the  lives 
of  men.  For  Charles  had  other  subtile  devices  than  those 
which  served  him  in  family  diplomacy.  He  was  always 
piping  the  ground  to  carry  his  purposes  a  long,  long  way. 
You  saw  nothing  on  the  surface ;  but  when  something  hap 
pened,  irrationally  to  his  advantage,  you  could  follow  back 
the  underground  communication  and  satisfy  yourself  that 
it  wasn't  blind  fortune  which  had  showered  him  with  a 
new  prosperity.  It  was  Charles  himself.  Once  Norris  had 
broken  out  to  his  father  and  disclosed  his  total  failure  to 
reconcile  the  inner  deficiencies  of  Charles  with  his  unfail 
ing  mastery  over  the  means  of  life. 

"  That's  easy,"  grandsir  had  said.  "  Charles  is  a 
politician." 

He  could  talk,  and  so  clever  was  he  in  the  ways  of  the 
politician  that  he  could  even  get  people  to  talk  for  him. 
Now  he  sat  drinking  his  coffee  and  asking  questions  to 
which  he  expected  no  answer  —  because  he  wasn't  going  to 
give  the  time  for  them  —  and  nobody  attempted  any. 
They  knew  Charles.  Did  they  like  the  house?  Best  house 
of  the  period  in  Boston.  This,  they  were  aware,  wasn't  so, 
for  there  were  many  houses  as  faithful  and  far  prouder ; 
but  it  didn't  pay  to  bring  him  down  to  exactitudes.  You 
could  keep  qualifying  what  he  said,  in  your  own  mind,  as 
he  went  on,  and  that  was  far  easier  than  rousing  flat  dis 
claimers.  There  they  were,  the  four,  father  and  mother 
and  two  sons,  three  of  them  on  the  same  plane  of  temperate 


THE   BLACK   DROP  13 

assertion  and  Charles  the  rank  outsider.  Norris,  when  he 
got  space,  replied  in  a  pleasant  moderation.  Yes,  they 
liked  the  house  enormously.  They  felt  already  at  home. 
Father  did,  too.  He  was  dining  upstairs.  No,  his  gout 
wasn't  any  better,  though  it  was  difficult  to  tell.  He  per 
sisted  in  making  a  joke  of  it.  But  it  presently  became 
apparent  that  Charles  was  uneasy.  Through  the  fusillade 
of  his  questioning  he  seemed  to  be  keeping  them  all  under 
a  glancing  inspection.  Emily  saw  that.  She  wondered 
what  he  wanted  to  know.  And  presently  he  turned  to  his 
brother  who  was  eating  apples  steadily  —  he  had  a  plate 
of  them  at  hand  and  was  devouring  them  with  a  regular 
placidity  only  equalled  by  his  interest  in  them  —  and 
asked : 

"  Any  idea  what  you're  going  to  do  ?  " 


II 

JOHN  was  just  finishing  the  trisecting  of  a  Mclntosh 
Red.  He  cut  it  laterally  and  ate  the  resultant  wheels 
with  a  grave  precision. 

"  Do ?  "  said  he.    "  What  do  you  mean  —  do?  " 

"  Why,"  said  Charles,  "  I  s'pose  you're  going  to  get  into 
some  sort  of  newspaper  work  now  you're  up  here  for 
good." 

"  I've  been  up  here  most  of  the  time  right  along,"  said 
John.  "  It's  the  family  that's  here  for  good." 

He  always  had  a  period,  for  which  he  couldn't  account, 
when  he  and  Charles  met  after  absence,  of  getting  used  to 
him.  It  wasn't  that  Charles  offensively  did  the  elder 
brother  act;  but  they  were  so  fundamentally  different  in 
everything  that  John  felt  a  distinct  shock  at  being  shaken 
up  in  the  family  bag  again  with  this  temperamentally 
foreign  stranger  who  yet  had  indubitable  rights  of  familiar 
speech  toward  him.  Now  Emily  rose  from  the  table  and 
they  followed  her  to  the  sitting-room  where  a  fire  of  maple 
wood,  abundant  and  gaily  bright,  was  mulling  in  the 
big  fireplace. 

"  Bet  you  brought  up  a  van  of  wood  with  you,"  said 
Charles,  as  if  it  were  a  sentimental  folly,  yet  pardonable, 
and  his  mother  said  they  had. 

They  sat  down  before  the  compelling  blaze  that  offered 
all  sorts  of  urgently  conciliatory  things  about  the  unity 
and  warmth  of  family  life,  and  Charles  and  his  father  lit 

14 


THE    BLACK   DROP  15 

up,  and  John,  who  had  brought  more  apples  in  his  pocket, 
bit  and  munched  reflectively.  But  Charles  hadn't  done 
with  him. 

"  That's  a  queer  crowd  you  run  with,"  he  said,  between 
puffs. 

John  wasn't  disconcerted. 

"  Lame  ducks,"  he  said.  "  That  what  you  mean?  How 
do  you  know  I  run  with  'em?  " 

"  Because  you're  all  harping  on  the  same  note.  I  can't 
take  up  a  paper  but  I  find  some  of  you." 

"  We  are  pitching  into  things,  if  that's  what  you  mean," 
said  John,  biting  his  apple. 

He  had  made  it  a  rule  that  Charles  should  never  dis 
turb  him.  It  had  become  a  point  of  pride  ever  since  a 
disgraceful  day,  at  least  ten  years  ago,  when  he  had  been 
so  sick  with  anger  at  what  he  felt  was  a  beastliness  of 
Charles  that  it  had  made  him  tremulous  and  lost  him  his 
voice.  For  one  horrible  instant  he  had  thought  he  was 
going  to  cry ;  but  at  that  point  Charles  had  laughed,  and 
it  saved  him.  Thenceforth,  in  these  fraternal  onsets,  no 
diplomat  had  ever  been  more  resolved  on  an  unmoved  ex 
terior.  The  two  brothers  had  each  a  diplomacy  of  his 
own,  John's  as  innocent  as  the  protective  coloring  in  the 
insect  world. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  lame  ducks?"  Charles  was 
asking  now. 

"  Oh,"  said  John,  tossing  his  core  into  the  fire  with  a 
finality  that  said  you  couldn't  possibly  tempt  him  to  eat 
an  eighth  apple,  "  we  are,  you  know.  I'm  lame,  Finch  can't 
see  an  inch  before  his  nose,  Brennan's  on  the  verge  of  T. 
B.  and  has  to  be  sent  off  and  buried  in  a  camp  twenty-four 
hours  after  lie  runs  away  and  comes  back  to  life,  and 
Bailey's  got  a  queer  heart.  Besides,  he's  a  skeleton.  We 


16  THE    BLACK   DROP 

can't  any  of  us  go  over  to  France  and  pitch  in.  All  we  can 
do  is  to  stay  here  —  and  talk." 

The  moderation  of  his  voice  held  to  the  last  word.  Not 
even  for  the  luxury  of  indulging  dear  indignations  would 
he  betray  himself  to  Charles.  And  he  did  hate  talk  that 
was  not  the  foil  of  the  gallant  deed. 

"  You  talk  too  much,"  said  Charles. 

"  Oh,  come  now,"  said  Norris  peacefully,  "  they're 
doing  some  mighty  good  work.  That  poem  of  John's  in 
the  Eagle  —  it's  as  good  as  any  of  those  English  fellows 
have  done  —  except  Owen  Seaman,  that  is.  He's  the  boy 
for  me,  inexhaustible,  turning  the  trick  every  time,  and 
with  a  laugh,  —  how  can  he  do  it?  —  with  a  laugh." 

"  That's  all  right,"  said  Charles.  "  But  England's  at 
war.  She's  in  it.  We're  not.  And  John  and  his  gang  are 
simply  whipping  up  militarism.  It's  outrageous." 

John  sat  perfectly  still,  only,  his  mother  saw,  as  she 
stole  a  look  at  him,  the  color  had  mounted  to  his  face  and 
dyed  it  to  his  hair.  She  wasn't  afraid  he  would  respond 
intemperately.  Long  ago  she  had  fathomed  his  diplo 
matic  determination  and  she  read,  like  a  page  in  a  familiar 
tongue,  the  meaning  of  the  surging  blood.  He  was  think 
ing  rather  well  of  himself  and  his  lame  ducks  if  Charles 
could  say  they  had  the  influence  to  warrant  irritation.  It 
was  Norris  who  found  himself  goaded  into  speech. 

"  But,  good  God !  "  he  said.  "  What  other  decent  thing 
is  there  for  a  man  to  do  ?  " 

"  Oh,  well !  well !  "  said  Charles.  He  got  up  and  kicked 
a  log  into  place,  —  the  wrong  place,  Emily,  who  was  ex 
pert  with  logs,  uncomplainingly  noted  —  and  then  sat 
down  again,  as  if  by  that  act  the  discussion  closed. 

"  How  is  Helen  ?  "  his  mother  asked  him,  which  was  her 
contribution  to  general  amity. 


THE    BLACK   DROP  17 

Immediately  he  fell  into  the  gloom  indicated  by  cor 
rugated  eyebrows  and  a  long  drawn  breath.  He  had 
finished  his  cigar,  and  now  plunged  his  hands  deep  in  his 
pockets  and  pushed  back  his  chair  so  that  he  could  attain 
the  greater  ease  of  stretching  his  legs  out  straight  toward 
the  fire. 

"  That's  it,"  said  he,  "  that's  really  what  I  came  round 
for  —  except  to  say  howdy,"  he  concluded,  with  a  tardy 
recognition  of  family  claims. 

"  She's  all  right,  isn't  she?  "  Emily  asked  quickly. 

"  Oh,  yes,  she's  all  right,  health's  all  right.  But  the  fact 
is,  things  haven't  been  going  well." 

"Money?"  asked  Norris.  "If  it's  that,  you  ought 
never  to  have  jumped  in  and  bought  this  house." 

"  Don't  you  worry,"  said  Charles.  He  smiled  on  them 
with  the  air  of  one  who  had  nothing  to  learn  from  older 
heads  which  had  presumably  lost  some  sapience  while  his 
own  was  steadily  gaining.  "  I  never  was  so  well  fixed  in 
my  life,  never  saw  so  much  ahead  of  me.  But  Helen  — 
well,  the  fact  is,  she's  discontented." 

"  Maybe  she  wants  a  little  trip,"  said  Emily.  "  Why 
didn't  you  take  her  to  Washington?  " 

"  Washington  nothing,"  said  Charles  violently.  "  No, 
and  I  didn't  ask  her.  I'd  known  mighty  well  what  answer 
I'd  got  if  I  had.  She's  contrary  as  the  devil.  No,  mother, 
I  can't  put  it  any  other  way.  She's  discontented,  that's 
the  root  of  it,  discontented." 

"With  you?"  John  asked  —  like  a  fool,  he  instantly 
told  himself.  For  he  was  bent  on  being  a  sport,  and,  if  he 
had  determined  not  to  let  his  brother  ruffle  him  to  omit 
all  counter  ruffling.  But  this  was  so  pat,  so  inevitable,  it 
slipped  out  and  he  sat  up,  alert,  in  surprise  at  the  response 
it  brought. 


18  THE    BLACK   DROP 

"  Well,"  said  Charles,  pushing  his  hands  further  into 
his  pockets  and  stretching  his  legs  to  such  length  that  he 
seemed  to  be  lying  flat  in  his  chair,  "  that's  the  long  and 
short  of  it.  With  me." 

Then  there  was  the  silence  of  a  shocked  moment  during 
which  the  wedded  mind  of  two  of  the  hearers  sought 
about  and  waved  the  antennas  of  supposition  in  a  vague 
search  for  the  cause  of  Helen's  discontent.  Charles  him 
self  was  enough,  each  thought  in  that  arcanum  where  the 
perceptive  faculties  carry  on  a  perpetual  tribunal ;  but 
Charles  was  no  different  in  the  main  from  what  he  had  been 
five  years  before  when  he  was  irresistibly  in  love  with 
Helen  and  had  rushed  her  into  being  in  love  with  him.  He 
was  only  "  more  so,"  as  to  the  turbulent  activities  of  his 
life.  If  Helen  could  admit  him  then  to  the  sanctities  of 
marriage,  why  couldn't  she  endure  his  permanent  foothold 
there?  She  could  hardly  think  worse  of  Charles  —  the 
surface  of  him  —  each  ruthless  mind  was  saying,  than  the 
family  did ;  and  the  family  hadn't  thrown  him  over.  Why 
should  Helen  be  disturbing  social  balances  with  her  dis 
contents  ? 

"  Mother,"  said  Charles,  "  I  wish  you'd  talk  to  her." 

"  If  she  gives  me  an  opening,"  said  Emily.  "  If  she 
doesn't,  I  couldn't  possibly.  I  shouldn't  know  what  to 
say." 

"  Why  don't  you  tell  the  whole  business  ?  "  said  Norris 
testily.  "  That  is,  if  it's  anything  you  can  tell.  And  I 
gather  it  is,  or  you  wouldn't  have  begun  on  it." 

"  Oh,  it'll  come  out.  Don't  you  worry,"  said  Charles 
gloomily.  "  You'll  see  it  in  the  headlines,  if  she  can't  be 
choked  off  somehow.  She's  going  to  file  proceedings  for 
divorce." 

"  What !  "  the  word  leaped  from  Norris's  lips  with  the 
force  of  a  cry. 


THE   BLACK   DROP  19 

Emily  said  nothing.  She  sat  looking  into  the  fire,  but 
John  saw  her  hand  tighten  on  the  arm  of  her  chair.  As 
for  him,  such  a  sense  of  shame  came  over  him  as  he  had 
never  recognized.  He  loved  Helen,  in  a  timid  way.  He 
thought  of  her  as  a  beautiful  person  who  had  inexplicably 
been  chained  up  in  a  dreadful  castle  which  was,  no  doubt, 
the  castle  of  his  brother's  delight.  But  what  had  it  been 
for  her?  And  now  the  quick  sense  of  shame  told  him  she 
was  escaping  from  the  castle,  but,  to  get  through  the 
window,  she  had  to  do  it  naked,  as  it  were,  to  the  eyes  of 
men.  Her  name  and  all  the  intimacies  of  her  life  had  to  be 
on  wagging  tongues,  and  his  sorrow  for  her  was  tinctured 
with  the  bitterness  of  youth. 

"  Then,"  Norris  concluded  remorselessly,  "  you've  given 
her  cause." 

"  She's  as  wrong-headed  as  the  devil,"  said  Charles 
peevishly.  "  You  never  saw  a  woman  so  changed.  You 
wouldn't  know  her.  I  shouldn't  —  if  I  ever  saw  her." 

"If  you  ever  saw  her?"  repeated  Emily.  "Why, 
where  is  she?  " 

"  She's  left  my  bed  and  board."  And  now  they  did  read 
in  him,  not  anger  alone,  but  an  extreme  of  mortification. 
"  She's  round  the  corner  here,  half  way  up  the  hill,  she  and 
her  sister  Jessie." 

"  Is  Jessie  here?  "  Emily  asked,  stupidly,  she  thought  at 
once,  for  he  had  told  her. 

'  Yes.  Jessie'd  gone  to  France.  She's  always  been  a  dis 
grace,  ever  since  that  aunt  died  she  lived  with  in  New  York. 
Acted  as  if  a  girl  of  twenty  could  go  bumming  round  the 
country  like  a  man.  She  went  on  a  paper  first,  you  know, 
that  woman's  paper.  But  when  the  war  begun  she  threw 
that  up  and  went  over  to  France.  You  couldn't  stop  her. 
I  don't  know  what  she  did,  relief  work,  some  sort." 


20  THE    BLACK   DROP 

"  I  never  knew  whether  Helen  upheld  her  in  that,"  said 
Norris. 

"  I  don't  know  myself.  I  never  brought  it  up  with 
Helen.  I  thought  if  Jessie  was  choked  off  there  the  al 
ternative  might  be  her  coming  to  live  with  us,  and  I'd  had 
enough  of  that  the  first  three  months  we  were  married. 
They've  been  sly  as  the  devil,  she  and  Helen,  both  of  them. 
I  didn't  know  anything  was  going  on  till  Helen  called  me 
into  the  library  one  day  and  read  the  riot  act,  and  then  off 
she  goes  to  a  hotel,  in  New  York  somewhere,  up  state. 
And  by  the  time  I'd  located  her,  Jessie  was  back  from 
France  and  they'd  taken  the  apartment  I  spoke  of  and 
that's  all  there  was  to  it.  Helen  had  simply  told  the  ser 
vants  some  yarn  of  being  called  away  and  —  beat  it." 

John  broke  into  a  little  laugh,  instantly  suppressed. 
It  was  Charles's  last  verb,  so  curiously  inept  as  applied  to 
Helen. 

"  Didn't  you  try  to  see  her?  "  Emily  inquired. 

Her  tone  was  absolutely  colorless,  but  John,  glancing  at 
her,  thought  mother  was  moved  at  last. 

"  See  her?  "  Charles  almost  bellowed,  in  a  sudden  out 
burst  of  rage  that  told  its  own  story.  He  was  really,  they 
were  silently  agreeing,  feeling  it  very  deeply.  "  Of  course 
I  did.  I  went  round  there  the  morning  she  moved  in." 

"  Well,"  Emily  asked,  "  what  did  she  say?  " 

"  Wouldn't  see  me.  Sent  word  by  Jessie  she'd  said  all 
she'd  got  to  say." 

"  Well,"  said  Emily  absently  —  her  actual  mind  seemed 
to  be  with  the  two  sisters  in  the  apartment  round  the  cor 
ner  —  "  that  must  have  been  hard  for  Jessie." 

"  Hard  for  Jessie?  I'd  make  it  hard  for  Jessie.  Why 
didn't  she  stay  where  she  was  put,  and  not  come  here 
worming  herself  in  between  husband  and  wife  ?  " 


THE   BLACK   DROP  21 

"  Well?  "  said  Norris.  It  evidently  meant,  "  What  did 
you  do  then?  " 

"  I  had  to  communicate  with  her  through  Jessie,  like  a 
damned  criminal,"  said  Charles,  in  no  assumed  disgust. 
"  But  I  managed  to  get  them  to  say  she  wouldn't  do  any 
thing  —  definite,  you  know  —  till  I  got  back.  I  was  due 
in  Washington  next  day,  and  I  represented  to  'em  they'd 
no  business  to  spring  a  thing  like  that  on  me  —  take  an 
unfair  advantage  — ' 

"  So  she  hasn't  actually  done  anything  yet,"  said  Emily. 
"  I  mean,  taken  any  steps  —  except  leaving  you?  " 

"  No,  she  hasn't  taken  any  legal  steps,  if  that's  what 
you  mean.  That  is,  I  assume  so.  And  that's  where  you 
come  in.  You've  got  to  talk  to  her.  You've  got  to  get 
her  to  quash  the  whole  thing." 

"  Now  look  here,"  said  Norris,  "  you're  not  going  to 
bring  your  mother  into  this  business.  I  won't  have  it, 
Charles.  I  tell  you  plainly  I  won't  have  it." 

"  Helen  sets  her  life  by  you,"  said  Charles,  ignoring  his 
father  and  using  the  homely  old  country  phrase  that  moved 
his  mother,  it  gave  him,  for  the  instant,  such  sincerity. 
"  If  she'll  listen  to  anybody,  she'll  listen  to  you.  I  don't 
know  as  there's  anybody  else  she'd  listen  to,  except  that 
damned  mischief-making  Jessie  and  she's  on  her  side." 

Emily  did  not  speak,  and  John,  against  his  resolution, 
came  out  bluntly  : 

"  How  do  you  know  which  side  mother's  on,  or  which  side 
she'll  be  on  after  she  sees  Helen?  " 

"  I'll  tell  you  which  side  she's  got  to  be  on,"  said  Charles. 
His  face  had  darkened  under  the  scowl  it  wore  when  events 
didn't  go  to  suit  him  and  he  was  angrily  determined  to 
make  them.  "  She's  got  to  be  on  my  side.  So  have  all  of 
you.  If  you  won't  because  it'll  be  the  devil  and  all  to  see 


22  THE    BLACK   DROP 

your  names  in  the  headlines  and  have  reporters  butting  in 
morning,  noon  and  night,  you'll  do  it  because  it's  my 
gamble." 

"  What's  your  gamble?  "  his  father  asked. 

"  I'm  onto  something  big,  that's  all,"  said  Charles.  He 
looked  a  man  of  power  as  he  spoke,  not  merely  of  a  physi 
cal  force,  but  darkly  bent  on  what  had  got  to  yield.  "  It'll 
bring  me  into  prominence  —  it'll  make  me.  That's  it. 
I  shall  be  made." 

"  Money?  "  asked  his  father  quietly. 

"  Money,  yes.  And  more  than  money.  Whichever  way 
the  country  goes  —  and  she  can't  go  into  war,  and  you'd 
better  stop  harping  on  that  string,  John,  if  you  know 
what's  good  for  all  of  us  —  if  I  play  my  cards  decently, 
I'm  made." 

"  Yes,"  said  Norris,  still  quietly,  "  that's  the  point  — 
play  them  decently." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  mean  that,"  said  Charles,  in  an  angry  re 
buttal.  "  I  mean  if  I  watch  out  I'm  sure  to  come  into 
something  big." 

"  An  appointment  ?  "  inquired  his  father. 

"  Call  it  anything  you  like.  And  if  I've  got  to  figure  in 
a  divorce  trial,  I'm  done  for." 

John  quoted  Shakespeare  under  his  breath :  "  '  Not  to 
leave  undone,  but  keep  unknown.' ' 

"  What  ?  "  Charles  inquired  irritably. 

John  did  not  respond.  He  got  up  and  threw  on 
another  log. 

"  I  can't,"  said  Charles,  floundering  a  little,  "  I  can't 
have  attention  called  to  me,  not  in  that  way.  Everything's 
above-board,  in  my  career,  so  far  as  the  rest  of  the  world 
knows,  and  it's  to  be  left  so.  Mother,  you've  got  to  talk 
to  Helen." 


THE    BLACK   DROP  23 

"  I  want  to  see  Helen,"  said  his  mother,  with  the  neu 
trality  that  often  maddened  him.  "  Has  she  a  telephone?  " 

"  Yes.  It's  in  her  sister's  name.  So's  the  apartment, 
I  suppose.  They  were  mighty  clever  about  it  all,  I  can 
tell  you." 

"  Oh,"  said  his  mother,  "  Jessie  Lisle.  Pretty  name, 
isn't  it?  I  always  thought  Helen's  name  was  so  pretty 
when  you  were  engaged  to  her.  You  remember  that  first 
time  you  brought  her  home." 

Charles  got  up  with  such  sudden  force  that  his  chair 
seemed  to  resent  it  and  ran  away  backward  on  indignant 
legs. 

"  I  remember  most  things  that  have  happened  to  me," 
he  said.  "  It's  a  damned  sell,  life  is.  Do  you  think  I 
ought  to  go  up  and  see  grandsir?  " 

"No.  Oh,  no,"  said  Emily  hastily.  "He'll  be  busy 
with  his  reading." 

Charles  went  into  the  hall,  put  on  his  coat  and  came  back 
again,  holding  his  hat  and  stick. 

"  You'll  tell  him,  I  s'pose,"  he  remarked,  looking  at  the 
fire  and  frowning. 

Emily,  noting  his  beautiful  hands,  the  one  that  held  his 
hat  and  the  other  his  stick  and  gloves,  thought,  with  a 
throb  of  mother  pain,  how  wonderful  they  had  always  been 
to  her,  an  Index,  she  tried  to  believe,  of  the  son  she  meant 
him  to  be. 

"  Yes,"  said  Norris.    "  Of  course  we  shall  tell  father." 

"  Helen's  fond  of  him,"  Charles  offered,  this  rather 
hesitatingly  and  so  for  a  moment  making  himself  more 
appealing  to  the  collective  family  mind  than  through  his 
sledge-hammer  strokes.  "  He  might  be  able  to  do  some 
thing  with  her.  It  appears  to  me,"  he  ended,  in  a  bitter 
ness  that  seemed  to  hold  a  mortification  they  had  never 


24  THE    BLACK   DROP 

seen  in  him,  "  Helen's  inclined  to  be  fond  of  the  whole 
family  —  except  me." 

With  that  he  was  gone,  and  they  heard  him  shut  the 
door  violently  with  a  muttered  repudiation  of  doors  in 
general  because  the  chain  swung  out  and  got  in  his  way. 
After  he  had  been  with  them  there  was  always  a  curious 
break  in  tension  of  the  atmosphere.  If  he  had  been  what 
his  mother  called  good  —  and  Charles's  good  was  no  less 
than  charming  —  they  with  difficulty  avoided  looking  at 
one  another  in  thanksgiving  over  what  they  had  received. 
It  was,  by  contrast  with  what  he  might  have  been,  in 
credible.  And  sometimes  he  was  not  good ;  and  then  his 
departure  left  them  shaken  to  the  inmost  nerve.  For  there 
was  really,  John  was  convinced,  though  his  mother  would 
never  let  him  enlarge  on  it,  a  devil  in  Charles. 

Emily  stood  there  staring  at  the  fire,  and  Norris  looked 
at  her  as  if  in  reminder  that  he'd  like  to  have  her  speak  and 
interpret  unto  him. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  was  that  the  reason  he  was  so  anxious 
for  us  to  come  up  here  for  the  winter  and  why  he  settled  on 
this  house  round  the  corner  from  Helen?  " 

"  Oh,"  said  Emily  deprecatingly,  "  we  were  anxious 
enough  to  come." 

"  You've  got  yourself  into  it,"  said  Norris,  fuming. 
"  That  is,  he  got  you  into  it.  You  going  to  tele 
phone?  " 

"  Why,  of  course,"  said  his  wife,  with  a  look  of  perfect 
clarity.  She  seemed  to  jump  the  near-by  ditch  of  discom 
fort  and  find  herself  safely  on  the  ground  of  their  old 
relations  with  the  fugitive  wife.  "  Of  course  I  shouldn't 
come  up  here  and  not  try  to  see  Helen." 

"  You  haven't  tried,"  said  Norris  feebly,  as  if  that  were 
the  issue. 


THE   BLACK   DROP  25 

"  Well,"  said  she  conclusively,  "  I  think  we  must  try 
now." 

She  didn't  say  she  had  telephoned  her  son's  house  the 
day  after  their  arrival  and,  having  been  told  Mrs.  Tracy 
was  away  indefinitely,  gave  up,  because  her  guessing 
faculties  warned  her  of  something  queer  afoot. 

"  Come,"  said  Norris,  "  let's  go  and  tell  father." 

They  turned  like  children  running  to  call  the  higher  in 
telligences  to  interpret  unto  them  and  went  upstairs,  John, 
though  he  had  meant  to  be  out  that  evening,  rounding  up 
his  lame  ducks,  following  on  behind. 


Ill 

GRANDSIR  was  sitting  at  his  big  table  facing  the  door, 
and  within  the  tract  of  soft  illumination  from  the  drop- 
light  were  large  sheets  of  paper  over  which  his  pencil 
hovered.  A  frown,  not  of  perplexity  but  of  extreme  in 
terest,  brought  his  fine  brows  together.  He  was  debating 
whether  he  could  allow  himself  to  yield  to  his  foolish  pas 
sion  for  early  apples,  of  which  Grasslands  had  already 
such  abundance  that,  although  the  neighbors  were  called 
in  to  pick  and  gather,  the  fragrance  of  fallen  fruit,  the 
cricket's  quota,  filled  the  air.  Or  should  he  smother  his 
temptation  to  make  the  present  venture  one  of  personal 
delight  and  set  out  the  winter  dependables  that  denied  the 
eye  something  of  immediate  fruition?  But  hearing  steps 
he  put  down  his  pencil  and  laid  the  papers  away.  The 
smile  born  out  of  the  sagacity  of  age  —  a  smile  of  a  sa 
tiric  quality  yet  courteously  patient  —  came  over  his  face. 
He  suspected  the  family  of  leaving  their  exigent  pur 
suits  to  come  up  and  keep  him  company,  whereas  he  might 
be  the  better  entertained  without  them.  But  Emily's 
face  at  once  gave  his  conjectures  another  directing  push, 
and  his  smile  faded.  The  least  anxiety  on  Emily's  brow 
was  enough  to  recall  him  to  the  temporal  affairs  he  had, 
for  the  most  part,  stepped  out  of  with  a  dignified  finality 
and  in  ample  time  to  avoid  the  tread  of  a  younger  gener 
ation  on  his  heels. 

"Writing,  father?"  asked  Norris  unnecessarily,  and 

26 


THE   BLACK   DROP  27 

John  went  at  once  to  the  fireplace  and  laid  the   sticks 
together. 

"  What  is  it?  "  asked  grandsir,  as  they  ceased  their 
slight  activities  of  pulling  chairs  into  range  of  his  table 
and  disposing  themselves.  "  Oh,  I  see !  Charles  was 
here." 

"  He  asked  if  he  might  come  up,"  Norris  began,  and  his 
father  raised  his  eyebrows  slightly. 

"  No,  of  course  not,"  he  said  to  Emily,  as  if  he  knew 
who  was  responsible  for  sparing  him  the  duty  visit,  "  you 
were  quite  right.  Helen  come  with  him?  " 

"  No,"  Emily  returned,  and  now  she  looked  directly  at 
him  and  said  by  her  glance  —  or  he  imagined  she  said  — 
"  If  you  and  I  could  only  talk  this  thing  out !  "  Emily 
often  seemed  to  be  implying  that,  and  yet  they  never  did 
foregather  for  secret  conclaves.  It  was  only  that  she  was 
apparently  begging  that  form  of  solace  and  counsel,  and 
he  had  a  distinct  belief  that  even  in  the  wordless  appeal 
there  lay  the  assurance  that  she  was  relying  on  him. 

"  The  fact  is,"  Norris  came  in,  and  absolutely  by  way  of 
helping  Emily  out  from  what  he  felt  was  a  hateful  position 
for  her  —  she  was  sorry  for  Charles,  sorry  for  Helen,  and 
she  was  the  last  person  to  enter  upon  illicit  topics  with  that 
timorous  yet  fearful  joy  not  unknown  to  women  — 
"  Charles  is  in  a  hole.  They've  had  some  trouble,  he  and 
Helen.  That's  the  way  I  understand  it." 

Grandsir  avoided  looking  at  Emily  now.  He  didn't 
want  to  surprise  her  confidence  and  guess  out  of  her  what 
she  may  not  have  intended  for  him  all  in  one  piece.  He 
kept  his  eyes  on  Norris,  gravely,  with  a  certain  sternness 
even,  as  if  he  were  probing  him  as  a  form  of  legal  inquiry 
on  which  he  or  somebody  had  got  to  pass  judgment. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  what's  the  matter?  " 


28  THE    BLACK   DROP 

In  the  second  that  Norris  didn't  answer  John  had  time 
to  feel  they  were  drifting  into  a  mawkish  avoidance  of  the 
situation  as  it  was,  and  he  broke  bluntly  in : 
"  Helen's  left  him." 

Both  his  father  and  mother  turned  to  him  as  if  they  had 
suffered  a  sort  of  shock,  and  grandsir  smiled,  almost  im 
perceptibly,  it  is  true,  but  in  a  way  that  betrayed  his  own 
inward  appreciation,  even  if  it  scarcely  moved  the  muscles 
of  his  lips.  Neither  Norris  nor  his  wife  could  have  told 
why  they  shrank  momentarily  from  John's  in 
cursion.  It  wasn't  that  they  wanted  to  preserve  a  fiction 
of  his  innocence  of  social  ironies  and  lapses,  but  rather, 
perhaps,  because  he  and  Charles  inevitably  wore  two  as 
pects  to  them :  the  incredibly  grown-up  one  and  the  van 
ished  innocence  of  the  child.  Emily,  indeed,  could  fall 
back  any  time  into  a  dreamy  recurrence  of  that  bygone 
period  when  she  guided  the  two  boys  at  their  prayers  and 
arithmetic;  and  it  was,  when  inevitably  waking  from  such 
returns  to  the  past,  and  she  found  herself  confronted  by 
her  men  children  that  she  felt  herself  momentarily  a 
stranger  to  them.  Grandsir  was  looking  at  John  now  in 
a  responsive  interest,  as  if  he  were  the  witness  just 
sworn  in. 

"  Oh,"  said  he,  "  found  him  out,  has  she?  " 
"  Yes,"  said  John  directly,  "  no  doubt  of  it." 
"  Now  what  do  you  mean  by  that?  "  Norris  demanded 
fractiously.    He  knew  perfectly  well  what  they  meant,  but 
he  was  answering  out  of  his  defensive  position  as  father  of 
the  family.    The  family  tradition  must  be  preserved,  even 
if  it  were,  in  this  case,  only  a  family  fiction,  and  he  had  got 
to   manage  it  to  the   extent   of   a   false  partisanship   of 
Charles.    "  He's  exactly  what  he  always  was.    Helen  knew 
what  he  was  —  " 


THE   BLACK   DROP  29 

"  Oh,  no,  she  didn't,"  said  grandsir.  "  She  was  in  love 
with  him." 

"  Well,"  said  Norris  hardily,  knowing  he  lied  and  should 
presently  be  brought  to  book,  "  same  thing." 

"  Now,  Norris,"  said  grandsir,  "  what's  the  use  of  your 
writing  novels  if  you  can  say  a  thing  like  that?  It  proves 
you  don't  know  any  more  about  life  and  the  glamour  of  it 
when  nature'i  got  her  paw  on  you  than  a  baby  two  days 
old.  You  know  it  isn't  so.  You  know  how  Charles  looked 
to  Helen  when  she  first  got  acquainted  with  him.  That 
brutality  of  his  seemed  to  her  the  most  astounding  com 
bination  of  god  and  tiger  she'd  ever  met.  And  when  she 
found  things  in  him  —  the  other  things,  the  ones  we  know 
—  she  thought  he  adored  her  and  she  could  make  him  over. 
Now,  what's  she  left  him  for?  Is  it  another  woman?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  John,  before  the  other  two  could  speak,  and 
again  they  looked  at  him  amazedly. 

"  He  tell  you?  "  grandsir  inquired. 

"  No,"  said  Emily,  "  no.  John,  he  didn't  tell  us  any 
thing  of  the  sort." 

"  What  are  you  saying  such  a  thing  as  that  for?  " 
Norris  inquired  of  his  son. 

"  I've  seen  them  together,"  said  John.  Now  he  spoke 
sullenly.  He  didn't  want  to  turn  informer,  but  the  thought 
of  Helen  in  her  flight  from  the  ogre's  castle  set  his  nerves 
to  quivering  and  he  saw  Charles  galloping  after  her,  seiz 
ing  her,  it  might  be,  by  the  hair  of  the  head,  and  dragging 
her  back  to  her  dungeon  and  straw.  That  must  be  pre 
vented.  The  family  must  get  their  eye  on  her,  see  whither 
the  flight  was  leading,  and  be  assembled  to  surround  her 
in  a  guarding  cohort. 

"  Where  did  you  see  her,  John?  "'his  mother  was  asking 
quietly. 


30  THE    BLACK   DROP 

"  I've  seen  'em  a  lot,"  said  John,  with  a  young  stolidity. 
He  was  in  for  it  now,  and  he  resolved  he  wouldn't  play  the 
boy  and  damage  Helen's  cause  either  by  the  intemperance 
of  his  defence  or  by  its  weakness.  "  At  the  theatre,  walk 
ing  together,  driving.  She's  got  a  car." 

"Who  is  she?"  grandsir  asked,  but  John  understood 
he  meant,  "  Is  she  inside  the  conventions  where  Helen  livei 
and  your  mother  and  the  other  women  whose  names  we  se 
curely  use?  " 

"  She  does  newspaper  work,  of  a  sort,"  he  answered. 
"  Some  of  our  fellows  know  her." 

"Our  fellows?"  grandsir  asked.    "Your  fellows?" 

"  The  fellows  I  know,"  said  John.  "  Writing,  one  sort 
or  another,  fellows  like  me.  It's  easy  enough  to  know  her. 
She's  a  great  sport.  Went  to  a  stag  dinner  the  other 
night,  all  journalists.  They'd  sent  for  her  at  the  last 
minute  because  she'd  got  a  scoop  and  they  wanted  to  tell 
her  what  a  trump  she  was." 

"  Did  you  go?  "  asked  Emily. 

"  No,"  said  he. 

"  Why  not?  "  Norris  inquired. 

For  an  instant  he  didn't  answer.  He  was  exceedingly 
anxious  not  to  pose  as  a  chivalrous  defender  of  any  sort, 
especially  before  his  father  and  mother;  but  there  was 
indeed  only  one  reason  and  he  had  to  give  it. 

"Well,"  said  he,  "I  couldn't.  Anyway  I  thought  I 
couldn't.  I'd  seen  her  with  Charles,  and  it  didn't  —  well, 
it  didn't  seem  as  if  I  could.  There's  Helen,  you  know." 

His  mother  turned  to  him  with  a  look  he  loved  and  was 
proud  of  and  knew  he  should  treasure  in  some  dim,  un- 
searched  corner  of  his  heart.  And  yet  he  wished  she 
wouldn't  look  at  him  like  that,  with  such  a  horrible  excess 
of  bare  emotion.  He  didn't  want  anybody  to,  even  if  it 


THE   BLACK   DROP  31 

were  Helen  he  was  defending.  John's  own  unspoken  life 
was  a  thing  of  hidden  pains  and  sweetness.  He  couldn't 
admit  anybody  to  it,  except  grandsir  now  and  then,  and 
even  that  was  all  implication,  a  glance,  a  shared  certainty 
that,  since  they  were  both  men,  one  at  the  end  of  the  way 
and  the  other  its  beginning,  they  knew  some  according 
secrets  of  the  road. 

"  What's  her  name?  "  Norris  inquired,  out  of  a  strong 
repugnance  at  asking.  Desirable  as  it  was  to  know,  he 
hated  to  hear  John  turning  in  evidence. 

"  Mrs.  Davenport,"  said  John  promptly  and  yet  a  little 
distastefully,  as  if  the  name  itself  held  unspoken  impli 
cations. 

"  A  widow?  "  asked  his  mother. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  John.  Perhaps  he  wanted  now  to 
throw  the  whole  thing  by.  He  had  opened  his  bag  of 
tawdry  accumulations,  and  he  might  be  supposed  to  be  so 
tired  of  carrying  them  to  this  very  end  that  he  was  glad 
to  cast  the  empty  bag  itself  away.  "  It's  thought  not. 
Anyway  there's  no  Davenport  in  sight.  She's  on  her  own. 
She's  got  plenty  of  money,  and  she  spends  it." 

Norris  was  frowning  blackly.  For  a  startled  instant 
Emily  thought  he,  too,  like  Charles,  took  back  to  the  dead 
and  gone  Tracy  of  the  lowering  brow.  Charles,  or  John 
who  was  witness  against  Charles,  seemed  to  have  roused 
undesirable  family  characteristics  that  might  have  been 
considered  in  the  light  of  retributive  ghosts. 

"Where's  Helen?"  grandsir  asked,  turning  now  to 
Emily.  She  was  evidently  the  one  to  know. 

"  Round  the  corner  here,"  she  answered  hurriedly,  as 
if  Helen  had  to  be  summoned.  "  She's  with  Jessie,  and  the 
telephone's  in  Jessie's  name." 

"  I  should  speak  to  her  at  once  and  ask  them  to  come 


32  THE   BLACK   DROP 

over  here,"  said  grandsir.  "  Charles  has  just  been  in,  so 
you're  pretty  sure  he  won't  come  back.  You  go,  Emily. 
Invite  them  to  come  over." 

Emily  started  obediently,  and  John  called  after  her, 
in  a  voice  of  surprising  eagerness  and  depth  of  anticipa 
tion  after  the  dull  level  of  his  testimony : 

"  Tell  her  I'll  go  over  and  get  'em." 

While  Emily  was  away,  grandsir  sat  thoughtfully  tap 
ping  one  nervous  yet  still  capable  hand  on  the  table, 
musing,  it  seemed  to  the  other  two,  on  matters  afar  from 
them.  Yet  it  must  be  about  this  upheaval  which  concerned 
them  equally,  and  Norris  felt  there  might  be  things  that 
could  be  said  before  Emily  got  back.  Not  that  she  was  a 
prude :  she  might  ignore  the  shameful  facts  of  life,  but  she 
wouldn't  wince  over  them;  yet  he  did  feel  an  indignant 
pity  of  her,  a  sense  of  outrage  in  the  unhappy  complica 
tions  of  her  son's  life.  But  John  didn't  wait  to  consider 
what  it  would  be  well  to  say.  He  simply  burst  out : 

"  Grandsir,  isn't  Charles  a  beast?  " 

"  John !  "  exclaimed  his  father  with  what  was,  after  all, 
but  a  perfunctory  sternness.  He  still  felt  the  actual 
presence  of  his  wife  in  the  room,  and  it  seemed  to  him  she 
mustn't,  in  these  male  crudities,  be  doubly  hurt.  But 
grandsir  answered  and,  though  absently,  at  once: 

"  Yes,  John,  yes.    To  be  sure  he's  a  beast." 

"  You  seem  to  be  taking  it  all  for  granted,"  said  Norris. 
"  You  haven't  even  heard  what  Helen  has  to  say  for  her 
self,  but  you're  determined  Charles  — 

There  he  paused,  for  he,  too,  was  condemning  Charles. 
Only  he  was  sick  in  the  very  recesses  of  his  soul,  not  so 
much  over  Charles  as  that  sacred  entity,  the  family,  which 
had  seemed  to  him,  against  reason  as  it  might  apply  to 
other  families,  to  cohere  with  the  tenacity  of  the  earth 


THE   BLACK   DROP  33 

itself.  And  now  its  atoms,  because  one  had  been  loosened, 
chipped  out  by  the  savage  blade  of  mischance,  were  shaken 
into  a  miserable  insecurity.  Norris  had  never  known  how 
solid  the  realities  of  his  life  had  seemed  to  him  until  the 
tiger  of  time  —  call  it  the  beast  of  destiny,  call  it 
retribution  for  old  sins,  or  what  you  will  —  but  at  any  rate 
it  had  teeth  and  claws  —  had  fallen  upon  his  mortal  de 
lusions  and  shaken  them  to  bits. 

They  sat  there,  the  three  generations,  grandsir  musing 
in  an  apparent  tranquillity  common  to  his  years,  Norris 
still  frowningly  as  if  he,  who  had  begotten  Charles,  must 
be  held  responsible  for  him,  and  John  in  a  high  state  of 
excitement  looking  from  one  to  the  other,  at  moments,  al 
most  furtively  —  though  there  was  nothing  ignoble  in  the 
seeking  glance  —  but  as  if  he  wished,  he  so  terribly  wished, 
he  could  get  inside  their  hidden  cells  and  find  out  what 
they  really  thought  about  things  —  not  Charles  alone  but 
life.  John  dwelt  a  great  deal  on  the  ordered,  illusive, 
scintillant  progress  of  emotions  he  called  life,  but  he 
couldn't  ask  anybody  to  tell  him  the  proven  solutions  he 
thought  they  ought  to  have  found:  certainly  not  an  older 
man.  And  one  reason  he  couldn't  was  that  it  seemed  to 
him  the  older  men  hadn't  any  real  solutions  to  offer ;  they 
had  just  relinquished  things  at  various  stages,  one  series 
of  hopes  here,  one  equally  pungent  set  of  fears  there. 
They  eased  themselves,  as  they  sailed,  by  throwing  out  the 
most  precious  freight,  spices,  silks  and  gems  from  Sam- 
arcands  of  the  soul,  and  the  ballast  they  kept  to  trim  ship 
was  the  same  old  sand  they  had  scooped  up  at  the  island 
where  the  sorcerers  live  who  tell  you  the  silks  and  spices 
aren't  really  worth  anything  after  all  and  you'd  better  fill 
the  hold  with  something  that  has  weight,  at  least.  John 
thought  he  could  tell  the  older  men  a  few  things  that  would 


34  THE   BLACK   DROP 

make  them  sit  up,  not  matters  of  experience  but  of  his 
inner  certainties,  because,  when  you  were  young,  you 
simply  saw.  You  knew.  What  you  wanted  was  for  the 
older  men  to  tell  you  whether  they  knew,  too ;  if  they  did, 
you  could  have  thrilling  communion  together.  But  they 
either  didn't  know  or  they  wouldn't  speak,  and  that  was 
why  there  had  to  be  a  compact  of  secrecy  between  you  — 
an  honorable  silence. 

John  sometimes  had  his  doubts  whether  grandsir  was  so 
absorbed  in  the  things  of  age  that  he  didn't  remember  the 
things  of  youth,  too.  He  doubted  it  again  now,  stealing 
another  glance  at  him  which  grandsir,  this  time,  met. 
The  figure  of  the  old  man  was  very  still,  even  to  that  finger 
on  the  table,  but  in  his  eyes  there  was  a  light,  so  keen,  so 
piercingly  directed  to  the  very  centre  of  conjecture  that 
John's  heart  beat  responsively  and  choked  him.  "  I  see," 
the  glance  said.  "  I  hear.  I'm  right  on  deck,  one  of  the 
captains  of  this  little  pageant.  You  needn't  obey  me,  if 
you  don't  want  to.  You  are  a  captain,  too,  you  know.  But 
our  ships'll  speak  each  other  when  they're  passing  on  this 
lambent,  heaving  sea."  It  was  so  real  to  John  that  a  self 
in  grandsir  had  really  called  to  a  self  in  him  that  he  half 
rose  from  his  chair  and  the  red  came  into  his  face.  In  an 
other  instant  he  thought  he  must  actually  have  spoken, 
said  something  foolish  perhaps,  in  his  mad  desire  to  probe 
the  mystery ;  but  his  father  roused  from  his  own  especial 
musing  and  asked : 

"  What  is  it,  John?    What's  the  matter?  " 

"  Nothing,"  said  John  shamefacedly,  and  went  to  poke 
the  fire. 

He  wouldn't  look  at  grandsir.  He  thought  he  should  see 
in  those  eyes  another  sort  of  message,  a  smiling  one  that 
said,  "  We  know."  And  yet  he  couldn't  demand  it  and 


THE   BLACK   DROP  35 

perhaps  be  disappointed,  he  was  so  terribly  desirous  of 
having  it  there.    But  he  was  conscious  of  a  great  wave  of 
happiness,  of  thrilling  nerve  and  rushing  blood.    Life  — 
what  he  called  life  —  seemed  to  him  almost  too  rapturous 
to  be  borne. 

And  now  Emily  came  back,  with  her  sewing  this  time. 
She  brought  her  basket  and  set  it  on  grandsir's  table,  took 
her  thimble  from  it  and  began  absently  slipping  it  on  and 
off.  She  stood  there,  doing  this  like  a  rite  of  patience, 
and  grandsir,  who  knew  why  she  often  took  to  sewing, 
realized  she  dreaded  the  approaching  interview  extremely. 

"  Are  they  coming?  "  Norris  asked. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  she,  "  they're  coming." 

John  got  out  of  his  chair,  but  she  turned  to  him 
decisively. 

"  You're  not  to  go  over  after  them.    Helen  said  no." 

So  John  subsided,  though  unwillingly.  He  thought 
mother  might  have  arranged  it  so  that  he  could  show 
Helen  where  he  stood.  A  few  minutes  more  they  waited, 
and  then  Emily  said: 

"  I  told  Susan  to  send  them  up  here." 

Norris  looked  uncertainly  at  his  father.  He  often  had 
kindly  projects  of  saving  father  anxieties  father  had  no 
idea  of  sparing  himself.  Emily  caught  the  look,  and  re 
plied  to  it  before  he  had  time  to  speak. 

"  Oh,  she  wouldn't  be  satisfied  for  a  minute  unless  she 
saw  grandsir  the  first  thing.  Besides  —  "  And  as  she 
looked  at  grandsir  with  her  slight  smile,  he  knew,  and  so 
this  time  did  the  others,  that  she  felt  they  were  entirely 
incapable  of  dealing  with  the  situation  without  him. 

And  then  came  the  ring  below  and  footsteps  on  the 
stairs :  but  no  other  sound.  Helen  and  her  sister  were 
not  talking.  They  came  as  silently  as  leaders  of  a  pro 
cessional  at  some  solemn  scene, 


IV 

EMILY  was  at  the  door  to  meet  them,  and  she  and  Helen 
kissed ;  but  Jessie,  whom  the  family  knew  but  slightly, 
came  last  with  a  little  upward  glance  of  deprecation. 
Were  they  prepared  to  accept  her,  the  glance  seemed  to 
ask.  Helen  went  on  into  the  room,  directly  to  grandsir, 
who  got  on  his  feet  to  receive  her.  And  Jessie,  again  mak 
ing  herself  of  secondary  importance,  went  through  the 
necessary  forms  of  greeting  with  John  and  his  father.  The 
two  young  women  brought  a  sudden  disturbance  into  the 
room,  a  quickening  of  the  pace.  They  were  so  fine  and 
comely  in  a  wonderful  way,  Helen  tall,  most  delicately 
made,  with  pale  skin,  blue-grey  eyes  and  soft  black 
hair,  and  Jessie  strikingly  like  her,  only  with  a  slight 
added  fulness  of  the  cheeks  and  figure,  a  color  that  was 
ready  to  spring  and  a  deeper  blue  of  the  eyes.  Helen 
looked  like  the  dreams  of  the  poets.  She  was  of  those 
women  who  suggest  ineffable  things  which  may  be  in  the 
woman  or  may  not,  but  are  at  least  an  imperious  call  to 
the  unsatisfied  in  others.  They  are  to  each  man  the 
embodiment  of  his  own  dream,  dreams  he  may  not  know 
he  ever  had.  But  Jessie,  slightly  shorter,  definite  in  her 
movements  and  her  voice,  was  the  earthly  counterpart 
to  Helen's  impalpable  suggestiveness.  John,  looking 
from  one  to  the  other  in  a  new  recognition  of  Jessie's 
likeness,  yet  her  difference,  felt  the  overwhelming  delight- 
fulness  of  them  both  in  a  way  that  made  him  stammer 

36 


THE    BLACK   DROP  87 

when  she  told  him  he  and  she  were  of  the  same  craft. 
He  knew  it ;  but  at  that  instant  he  seemed  too  awkward 
even  to  hold  a  pen.  And  while  the  others  were  talking, 
after  Jessie  had  been  presented  to  grandsir  and  had 
greeted  him  with  a  pretty  deference,  not  too  pronounced, 
he  was  wondering,  as  he  always  wondered  when  he  was  with 
her,  over  the  eternal  challenge  —  innocence  itself  —  of 
Helen's  face.  It  was  as  if  the  design  of  the  face  had  been 
completely  finished  on  a  faultless  plan,  and  then  skilful 
fingers  had  gone  to  work  at  it  again  with  the  utmost 
delicacy  of  touch  and  had  manipulated  it  into  a  slight 
irregularity  you  couldn't  possibly  define.  This  was  a 
suggestion  of  mystery,  a  pregnant  hint  of  the  unknown, 
so  that,  once  having  seen  it,  you  returned  to  it  again  and 
again.  What  did  it  mean,  that  slight  droop  of  the  lids, 
the  tiny  upward  curl  at  the  right-hand  corner  of  the 
mouth,  the  dimple  that  bewilderingly  came  and  then  dis 
appeared  capriciously?  If  you  were  plain  man  or 
woman  you  dwelt  upon  it  in  an  irritated,  fascinated  won 
der  ;  if  you  were  of  a  musing  turn  of  mind,  you  felt  it  must 
mean  something  extraordinary,  and  lost  yourself  follow 
ing  it  back  to  a  princess  dimly  dreamed  of,  a  sorceress  of 
old  Nile.  When  she  came  in,  the  face  bore  the  slightest 
hints  of  a  tragedy  resolutely  suppressed.  She  hadn't 
indeed  known  how  they  would  receive  her ;  but  now  she  was 
laughing  while  grandsir  chaffed  her,  as  he  often  did,  about 
her  looks,  which  he  adored.  And  when  she  laughed,  her 
long  curled  lashes  and  the  dimple  that  appeared  from 
somewhere  made  the  challenge  of  her  face  one  of  another 
sort  and  still  irresistible. 

"  Your  sister's  the  girl  for  my  money,"  he  said.  "  She 
looks  just  what  she  is,  good  as  apples  and  straight  as  a 
string ;  but  you,  you  hussy !  you're  a  million  things  before 


38 

anybody  can  have  you  taken  up  for  sorcery.  What  do  you 
do  it  for?  " 

Jessie  glanced  up  with  a  questioning  look  straight  at 
him,  when  he  began;  but  being  no  fool  she  concluded  this 
was  a  negative  form  of  the  homage  Helen  was  accustomed 
to.  She  turned  her  attention  to  John,  while  Norris  and  his 
wife  drew  a  little  nearer  the  table  and  joined  the  talk  with 
the  two  others :  but  never  about  Charles  or  the  upheaval 
in  the  family.  John  was  making  sure  of  that.  One  ear 
was  inclined  toward  them  while  he  and  Jessie  talked. 

"  What  paper  are  you  on?  "  she  asked  him. 

"  I'm  not  on  a  paper,"  said  John.  "  I'm  on  my  own  — • 
pitching  into  the  war." 

"  Pitching  into  the  war?  you  haven't  turned  pacifist?  " 

"  Lord,  no  !  what  makes  you  think  that  ?  " 

"  I  knew  you  weren't  in  the  beginning."  She  had  a  curt, 
clipped,  almost  a  boyish  habit  of  speech.  "  How  could  I 
know  but  you'd  gone  bad?  You  said  pitching  into  the 
war." 

"  I  mean  pitching  into  us  —  America  —  the  way  she's 
taking  it.  We're  carrying  on  a  sort  of  propaganda,  a 
few  of  us  —  " 

"  You  wrote  the  dialect  poems,  didn't  you?  " 

He  was  pleased  beyond  measure.  There  had  been  floods 
of  commendation,  and  always  the  support  of  his  effer 
vescing  colleagues,  but  this  girl  was  not  of  Boston ;  she 
was  of  New  York  and  later,  France. 

"  How'd  you  know?  "  he  stammered. 

"Why,  bless  you!  they  were  signed,  weren't  they? 
They're  mighty  good.  How  many  have  you  done?  " 

"Eleven." 

"  I've  seen  five.  Yes,  they're  all  right.  You  keep  on. 
If  you're  epigrammatic  enough  and  uncouth  enough  you 


THE    BLACK   DROP  39 

can  make  'em  stick.  And  when  you've  hit  the  popular  mind 
you'll  get  into  the  popular  memory,  and  the  thing's  done." 

"  So  you  think  the  pen's  mightier  than  the  sword?  " 

"  Sometimes,"  she  returned.  "  Not  always  —  in  war 
time,"  and  they  looked  at  each  other  and  laughed. 

He  was  becoming  exhilarated  over  a  girl  who  could  talk 
his  language  and  praise  him,  too.  But  she  snapped  him 
off  that  issue. 

"  Can  you  see  the  moon  from  that  hall  window?  the 
window  we  passed  coming  upstairs?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  John.    "  Want  to  come  and  look?  " 

"  Yes,  thank  you,  I  do." 

She  got  up  with  such  promptitude  that  they  were  out  of 
the  room  before  the  others  noticed  their  going.  But  at  the 
hall  window,  John  searching  the  heavens  innocently  for 
astronomical  data,  she  said,  with  the  directness  of  a  savage 
predetermination : 

"  Now  —  what  attitude  are  they  going  to  take?  " 

"They?" 

He  came  back  from  the  heavens  and  stared  stupidly. 

"  Yes.    About  Helen  —  and  Charles." 

"  I  can  tell  you  what  stand  I'm  going  to  take,"  said 
John.  "  I  adore  Helen." 

"  You  don't  have  to  adore  her,"  said  Jessie  coldly.  "  It 
isn't  a  question  of  adoring  her  and  standing  by  her  for 
that.  It's  a  question  of  what  you  think  —  whether  she's 
justified,  whether  she's  right." 

"  Of  course  she's  right,"  said  John. 

"  You  haven't  heard  her  side." 

"  No.    But  Charles  is  a  beast." 

She  ignored  that,  but  he  saw  she  wasn't  going  to 
qualify  it. 

"  Has  he  been  here?  "  she  continued. 


40  THE    BLACK   DROP 

"  Yes.     He  was  here  to-night." 

"What  did  he  say?" 

"  About  her?    Nothing  much.    A  word  or  two." 

"  His  side  of  it,  of  course." 

"  Charles  wouldn't  see  there  was  any  other  side.  But 
in  point  of  fact  all  he  said  was  that  she's  threatened  him 
with  divorce." 

"  Helen  adores  your  mother,"  said  she,  in  a  tone  falter- 
ingly  warmer  than  any  he  had  expected  from  her.  Evi 
dently  she  wasn't  daring  to  put  the  straight  question  as  to 
his  mother's  attitude.  She  wasn't  risking  it,  it  meant  so 
much  to  her. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  John,  "  what  mother'll  say  — 
finally.  She  didn't  say  much  to-night."  And  it  dawned 
on  him  that  he  had  been  too  tremendously  excited  over  the 
stand  he  meant  to  take  himself  to  pay  much  attention  to 
the  way  these  older  people  were  tending. 

And  now  some  cooling  of  the  first  rash  temperature  of 
her  resolution  chilled  the  girl  and  she  wilted  perceptibly 
from  her  outspokenness.  Perhaps  it  came  over  her  that 
this  was  an  odd  interview,  they  two  getting  nearer  and 
nearer  the  hateful  state  of  things  wherein  Charles  was 
mutually  agreed  to  be  a  beast  and  Helen  his  prey. 

"  You  see,"  she  said,  in  a  rather  small  and  faltering 
voice,  "  I've  come  back  here  to  stand  by  Helen,  take  her 
through  it,  you  know.  She  didn't  send  for  me.  I  gave  up 
my  job  in  France  and  just  came.  And  I  do  so  want  to 
know  where  Charles's  family  is  going  to  stand.  It  seems 
as  if  I'd  got  to  know." 

And  again  he  was  ready  with  the  hot  assurance: 

"  I  can  tell  you  where  I  am,  all  right.    I  adore  her." 

Now  this  seemed  to  him,  as  he  made  it,  and  to  Jessie,  as 
she  heard  it,  more  than  the  intemperate  vaporing  of  youth 


THE   BLACK   DROP  41 

spreading  its  largess  abroad.  John  felt,  with  a  beating 
pulse,  that  he  had  told  the  big  secret  that  lay  in  the  mid 
most  centre  of  his  heart:  that  nothing  could  ever  be  so 
beautiful,  so  mysterious,  and  so  unapproachably  divine  as 
Helen.  Her  spell  upon  him  had  been  laid  when  she  came 
first  to  the  house,  the  inexplicably  secured  treasure  of 
Charles,  and  this  was  when  John  had  been  little  more  than 
sixteen.  In  her  sweetness  she  had  kissed  him  —  at  her 
going  away,  when  she  was  penetrated  with  gratitude  at 
all  Charles's  people  for  accepting  her  —  but  he  looked  so 
appalled  by  the  wonder  of  it  that  she  never  did  it  again. 
At  the  moment  he  saw  her  he  had  begun  to  grow  up.  He 
wrote  verses  to  her  and  said  them  over  in  secret.  For  a 
time  even  Charles  shared  in  that  glamour,  because  it  seemed 
impossible  that  Charles  should  be  nothing  more  than  a 
lithe  animal,  setting  his  hoof  on  the  delicate  flowers  of  life, 
if  he  could  lure  this  bewildering  creature  to  him  and  bind 
her  with  a  spell.  And  now,  under  the  stimulus  of  her 
escape  from  Charles,  the  last  reason  why  he  should  not 
give  free  inward  rein  to  his  romantic  passion  seemed  to 
have  vanished ;  and  here  was  Jessie  who  also  adored  her 
and  would  understand.  But  she,  too,  had  caught  in  the 
declaration  the  precise  value  he  put  into  it.  She  spoke 
with  a  coldness  that  threw  him  back  on  himself,  and  he 
hated  her  and  his  own  rashness  in  giving  himself  away  to 
her. 

"  I  haven't  much  use  for  people's  adoring  Helen,"  she 
said.  "  It's  chiefly  because  her  eyes  droop  and  her  mouth 
turns  up  at  the  corner.  It's  a  liberty.  A  good  many 
people  take  it,  but  it's  a  liberty  all  the  same." 

"  I  tell  you  I'm  going  to  stand  by  her,"  said  John 
hotly.  "Is  that  a  liberty?" 

"  It's  of  no  importance  whatever,"  said  Jessie,  turning 


42  THE    BLACK   DROP 

away  from  the  moonless  window.  "  I  was  asking  about 
your  father  and  mother.  You're  only  a  kid."' 

This  didn't  actually  hurt  because  it  was  not,  in  his 
estimation,  true.  But  he  had  to  answer  it. 

"  I  can  tell  you  my  age,  if  you'd  like  to  know  it,"  he 
said,  with  a  scrupulous  incisiveness.  "  I  was  twenty-one 
last  August.  To  a  woman  of  your  age  —  " 

What  he  had  intended  to  add,  he  could  not  possibly 
have  told.  If  he  could  goad  her  into  resenting  something, 
however  fantastic,  the  game  was,  at  least  briefly,  in  his 
hand.  And  he  had  scored.  At  the  door  of  grandsir's 
room  she  stopped  and  came  back  a  step. 

"  I  am  just  twenty,"  she  said  haughtily.  "  As  it  hap 
pens,  my  birthday  was  yesterday.  If  you  don't  believe  it. 
you  can  ask  Helen." 

And  she  turned  about  to  go  in,  John,  behind  her,  for 
getting  his  late  anger  and  rejoicing  exceedingly.  For  he 
had  got  the  best  of  her.  He  had  made  her  angry.  Jessie, 
as  the  others  saw  her  now,  looked  so  high-headed  and  still 
resentful  that  Helen  wondered  what  John  could  have  told 
her.  Was  it  something  to  the  detriment  of  her  hold  on 
these  dear  people  she  loved  with  all  her  heart?  And  she 
was  never  to  find  out,  partly  because  Jessie  herself  did  not 
fully  understand.  She  had  been  living  under  a  strain  on 
this  difficult  road  of  seeing  Helen  through ;  she  had  longed 
exceedingly  for  the  coming  of  the  family :  for  if  they  were 
to  stand  by  Helen  the  strain  would  be  eased  incalculably. 
But  here  was  this  cocky  younger  brother  who  seemed,  with 
his  vaporings  of  adoration  for  Helen,  to  be  clouding  the 
issue  between  her  and  the  others  who  were  the  only  ones  to 
count.  Norris  was  the  first  to  look  up  at  them,  and  their 
air  of  heightened  tension  escaped  his  unexpectant  eyes. 

"Well,   children,  where've  you  been?"   he  asked,   and 


THE   BLACK   DROP  43 

it  was  John  who  answered.  This  was  indeed  out  of  the 
goodness  of  his  heart,  because  he  couldn't  go  back  to  the 
ostensible  purpose  of  their  withdrawal  and  say  they'd 
been  to  look  at  the  moon. 

"  I  wanted  to  show  Miss  Lisle  my  marbles,"  he  said 
guilelessly. 

"  Your  marbles  ?  "  repeated  his  father.  "  What  do  you 
mean  by  your  marbles?  " 

"  My  marbles,"  said  John  pleasantly,  "  and  my  railroad 
train.  Kids  of  my  age  have  marbles  and  railroad  trains." 

But  Emily,  who  knew  her  son's  face  like  a  book  in  her 
native  tongue,  and  grandsir  who  could  read  the  human 
language  of  Jessie's  scarlet  cheek  and  raging  eyes,  knew 
no  return  to  the  toys  of  childhood  could  have  raised  such 
signals  there. 

Immediately  on  their  coming  in,  Helen  had  risen,  and 
Norris  said: 

"  I'm  going  round  with  you.  If  John'll  let  me,"  he 
added,  smiling  at  his  son  whose  boy  worship  of  Helen  was 
one  of  the  open  secrets  the  family  protected  and  approved. 
"  If  he  won't,  we'll  both  go." 

But  Helen  went  up  to  him  and  laid  a  hand  on  his  arm 
and  looked  at  him  so  that  he  was  at  once  persuaded. 

"  Please !  "  she  said.  "  Really,  dear,  I  mean  it.  Jess 
and  I've  been  talking  about  it,  and  we've  decided  we'd 
rather  go  about  alone  —  just  now  anyway.  Please!" 

The  end  of  it  was  that  nobody  went  with  them,  every 
one  being  convinced  of  her  meaning  what  she  said,  for 
reasons  she  had,  whether  mistakenly  but  certainly  with 
seriousness,  thought  out,  and  all  but  grandsir  followed  on 
to  see  them  out  of  the  door  and  off  the  steps.  It  was  like 
a  country  departure  and  farewell,  a  chorusing  of  good- 
nights.  But  Helen,  gaily  as  she  played  her  part  in  it,  did 


44  ,       THE    BLACK   DROP 

give  one  look  along  the  street  before  she  turned  down  the 
hill.  What  if  she  saw  Charles,  that  shape  which  had  once 
held  the  sum  of  virile  mastery,  coming  toward  her,  to  take 
her  by  the  arm  and  push  her  along  beside  him  to  his  ogre's 
castle? 

John  let  his  father  and  mother  get  inside  the  door  again 
and  then  slipped  past  them  and  went  pelting  over  the 
stairs.  He  meant  to  see  grandsir  before  they  got  up  there 
with  their  qualifyings  and  explainings,  to  find  out  just 
what  had  happened.  Grandsir  was  not  at  his  table  now. 
He  had  made  his  way  to  the  hearth,  coaxed  up  the  fire  and 
sat  there  leaning  back  in  a  great  chair,  the  picture  of  sad 
weariness.  But  he  looked  up  and  nodded  at  John,  as  if  to 
assure  him  he  wasn't  too  tired  for  any  gay  challenging 
youth  might  put,  and  John  didn't  pause  in  the  attack. 

"  What  did  they  say  to  her?  "  he  burst  out.  "  Mother 
and  father?  " 

"  Nothing,"  said  grandsir,  "  that  is,  of  any  importance. 
Nothing  about  Charles." 

"  Well,  what  did  you  say?  " 

"  Nothing.  Your  mother  asked  Helen  if  the  dress  she 
was  wearing  was  blue  or  black  and  how  old  Jessie  was  — 

"  Hang  Jessie  !  "  John  broke  in. 

"  Oh,  yes,  Jessie'll  be  hanged  fast  enough  if  she  keeps  on 
looking  the  way  she  did  when  you  came  in  together." 

"  Now  did  you  ever  see  an  uglier  looking  girl  —  I  mean, 
ill-tempered,  hateful,"  said  John,  though  he  could  hardly 
stop  for  Jessie,  he  was  so  bent  on  leaping  back  to  Helen. 
"Who'd  ever  think  she  was  Helen's  sister?  They're  no 
more  alike  — 

"  Why,  no,"  said  grandsir,  smiling  at  him  in  the  tired, 
patient  way  that  showed  he'd  had  about  all  of  youth  he 
could  stand  until  his  old  body  stopped  aching.  "  Jessie's 


THE   BLACK   DROP  45 

all  right.  She  may  not  burn  the  topless  towers  of 
Ilium  —  " 

"  You  say  that  because  Helen's  named  Helen,"  said 
John,  yet  longing  to  hear  more,  to  invoke  unmeasured 
praise  of  Helen  and  the  justifying  of  his  own  inward 
love. 

"  But,"  said  grandsir  drawing  one  leg  up  and  laying 
a  commiserating  hand  on  it,  "  Jessie's  sound  as  apples." 

"Didn't  anybody  say  a  word?"  John  persisted  —  for 
he  heard  his  father  and  mother  talking  and  knew  there  was 
scant  time  —  "  not  about  Charles  or  what  they're  going 
to  do?" 

"  Not  a  word." 

"  Then,"  said  John,  "  how  are  they  going  to  know 
whether  the  family  means  to  stand  by  'em?  " 

"  I  guess  they  know,"  said  grandsir.  "  Seems  to  me 
we  all  behaved  "  —  here  a  cruel  twinge  tore  him  and  he 
added  mildly  —  "  pretty  much  as  usual." 

Norris  did  not  come  up  again,  but  Emily  did,  bringing 
his  good  night.  He  meant  to  work  a  while  before  going 
to  bed. 

"  Mother,"  said  John,  "  didn't  you  say  anything  to 
Helen  —  not  a  word  —  to  show  her  how  we  stand?  " 

"  No,"  said  Emily.  But  she  smiled  slightly  at  grandsir, 
and  he  knew  she  had  seen  him  write  a  couple  of  words  on  a 
slip  of  paper  and  lay  it  before  Helen  when  she  came  to  look 
over  his  shoulder  at  the  tree  catalogues.  "  Come  to 
morrow,"  the  paper  read ;  Emily  could  not  know  this, 
but  she  was  aware  that  it  was  fully  arranged  for  Helen  to 
come  back  again  and  sit  down  with  grandsir  to  a  consid 
eration  of  —  what? 

"  But  she  may  not  come  again,"  said  John.  "  She  may 
not  feel  at  liberty  to." 


46  THE    BLACK   DROP 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  his  mother  placidly,  "  I  guess  they'll 
come." 

Then  Allan  Lloyd  was  summoned  from  his  little  upstairs 
room  to  help  grandsir  to  bed.  He  was  a  Grasslands  boy 
who  was  grandsir's  attendant  on  the  daily  road  of  diffi 
culty  where  even  the  bravest  may  no  longer  walk  alone. 


NORBIS  went  off  to  his  own  room,  where  only  a  few  of  the 
necessary  pieces  of  furniture  for  studious  pursuits  had 
been  moved  in  to  give  him  an  immediate  workshop.  The 
result  was  an  austerity  of  beauty  of  the  sort  always  to  be 
found  in  a  simplicity  of  the  antique.  A  mullioned  window 
of  three  parts  looked  toward  the  north  and  outside  it  to 
night  the  constellations  were  set  in  an  order  he  knew, 
though  he  was  aware,  if  he  went  to  trace  their  divine 
remembered  beauty,  he  should  find  the  city  brightness  had 
dimmed  them  out.  But  he  did  not  go.  The  stars  —  that 
august  majesty  which  had  been  too  much  for  him  in  Grass 
lands,  before  he  fled  away  from  it  to  the  nearness  of  men  — 
were  not  what  he  wanted  to  reconcile  him  to  life  and  the 
cruel  jolts  upon  its  road.  He  sat  down  at  the  big  table 
and,  though  he  knew  he  should  not  write,  laid  out  paper 
before  him  and  even  absently  took  his  pen.  He  was  of 
those  who,  writing  by  profession,  have  the  compelling  habit 
of  it,  and  who  can  think  their  best  and  talk  their  best  with 
a  pen  in  hand,  who  are  too  often  tongue-tied  in  the  or 
dinary  intercourse  of  life,  but  establish  some  mysterious 
rapport  between  themselves  and  things  worldly  and  beyond 
through  the  medium  of  their  two  familiars,  pen  and  paper. 
He  had  had  a  great  many  vigils  with  pen  and  paper  in  these 
last  years  of  a  sort  he  thought  he  couldn't  share  with  his 
wife  or  even  his  father,  though  his  father,  having  gone  the 
same  road  of  middle  age,  might  be  supposed  to  know  some 
of  the  things  he  was  feeling. 

47 


48  THE    BLACK   DROP 

Up  to  the  beginning  of  the  war,  Norris,  as  we  have  seen, 
had  gone  a  pleasant  enough  path,  quite  aware  he  hadn't 
fulfilled  old  promises  or  touched  the  outer  rim  even  of  that 
globe  of  hope  which  had  flown  before  him  like  a  bubble 
radiant  in  the  sun  of  all  things.  He  had  meant  to  cause 
his  name  to  be  remembered ;  but  it  wasn't  going  to  be  save 
in  a  meagre  paragraph  in  biographical  lists  and  on  the 
backs  of  books  nobody  was  likely,  save  from  dim  parochial 
reasons,  to  take  down  from  the  shelves.  And  then  the  war 
came,  and  he  found  himself  drawn  into  the  gigantic  circle 
of  life  as  a  whole.  In  comparison  with  that,  what  were 
the  tiny  literary  strivings  of  one  New  England  man?  Al 
so,  he  found  he  didn't  care  about  himself  any  more,  his  in 
dividual  life  and  death.  He  did  care  passionately  for  the 
preservation  of  certain  invisible  divinities  of  belief  there 
hadn't  seemed  to  be  any  need  of  talking  about  before  this 
great  winnowing  began,  the  beating  of  the  wings  of  destiny. 
And  he  was  now  in  that  most  pathetic  zone  of  earthly  life 
when  a  man  can  still  agonize  over  the  fortune  of  events  he 
is  powerless  to  sway.  He  was  inexplicably  inert,  too,  as 
to  the  pen,  and  felt  an  ingenuous  admiration  of  John 
who  could  write  by  the  ream,  who  could  work  off  his  indig 
nations  on  paper,  and  who  hit  the  heart  of  the  matter  sur 
prisingly  well.  Old  men  for  counsel,  he  thought  wonder- 
ingly.  But  old  men  hadn't  always  the  courage  to  counsel. 
They  may  have  lost  the  rash  valor  that  ought  to  stand  be 
hind  the  word,  or  the  word  is  void.  They  are  blocked  by 
a  multitude  of  foes  bred  by  their  own  reverses,  memories  of 
quests  undertaken  in  vain,  small  timidities,  anxious  bal 
ancing  of  good  and  ill.  Yet  he  wasn't  old.  Men  older 
than  he  were  fighting  in  France  and  offering  heroic  counsel 
to  America  to  fight  also.  Only  —  he  had  heard  the  lutan- 
ist.  That  phrase  in  the  Dunsany  play  had  hit  him  in  the 


THE    BLACK   DROP  49 

centre,  at  first  reading,  and  it  stayed  with  him.  The 
Queen  had  harped  on  this  omen,  —  you  heard  the  lutanist 
when  death  was  coming;  wistful,  tremulous,  you  heard  and 
shrank  —  and  waited.  Norris  knew  that  differing  people, 
varying  temperaments,  heard  him  at  fated  periods  in  their 
lives.  The  note  might  come  to  the  young  with  a  shock,  and 
halt  them  in  their  dance.  It  might  come  to  the  old  with  a 
crescendo  of  mournful  melody.  Had  his  father  heard  it? 
When  he  was  sitting  there  regnant  above  his  disabilities, 
was  he  hearing  the  pipe  from  the  mountains  of  desire  or 
dread,  nearer  and  more  near?  Yet  his  father  never  spoke 
of  death.  The  middle-aged  heard  it  —  but  he  was  not 
sure  he  would  have  caught  the  plaintive  note  so  soon, 
since  his  body  was  not  warning  him,  if  the  purpose  of  his 
life,  the  writing  of  books,  had  not  failed  him. 

For  Norris  knew,  as  his  publishers  patiently  knew,  that 
nobody,  in  a  large  manner  of  speaking,  read  his  books. 
It  was  one  of  the  disheartening  things  about  it  all  that  the 
text-books  brought  him  in  their  surprising  income,  and  the 
novels,  they  that  were  he,  himself,  the  documents  of  his  life 
as  he  lived  it,  nobody  really  wanted.  He  had  thought 
about  it  for  years,  at  first  with  resentment  because  he 
was  talking  and  nobody  would  hear.  Then  when  war  came, 
with  its  clangor  of  reproach  and  accusation  and  its  big 
books  unrolled  where  the  debit  and  credit  of  nations  and 
individuals  stood  red  as  blood,  he  began  to  suspect  himself 
instead  of  the  world.  This  was  a  time  when,  mysteriously, 
every  man  had  to  show  what  was  in  him.  A  man  responded 
to  great  challenges,  or  he  skulked,  he  stood  up  valiantly 
and  told  the  truth  without  fear,  or  he  lied ;  yet,  if  he  lied 
he  knew  he  was  condemned.  So  clear  was  the  air  of  this 
great  time  that  you  found  yourself  measured  up  with  im 
perishable  values,  even  if  you  turned  your  back  on  them. 

B 


50  THE    BLACK    DROP 

But  you  knew  they  were  there.  And  Norris  now  began  to 
suspect  he  had  not  reached  the  heart  of  man  because  he  was 
not  true  enough.  Not  all  who  did  reach  it  were  true ;  they 
might  be  the  mountebanks  of  the  written  word,  they  might 
be  the  soporific  after  the  day.  But  the  high  task  he  had 
thought  himself  embarked  on  must  be  founded  on  the  rock 
that  is  the  support  of  human  life.  Hitherto  literature  had 
been  his  sweet  solace,  after  the  dinginess  of  things,  his 
other  house  he  went  into  from  the  clangor  of  the  streets. 
And  because  it  was  another  house,  though  far  more  won 
derful,  perhaps  he  had  elaborated  and  so  betrayed  its 
language.  It  was  not  the  plain  man's  manual.  He  had 
translated  it  into  another  medium  which  is  known  as  litera 
ture,  and  what  should  the  plain  man  care  for  that? 

His  door  was  open,  and  he  heard  his  wife  passing  and 
knew  she  would  not  turn  her  head,  much  less  speak  to  him, 
because,  when  he  was  at  work,  she  held  herself  apart  and 
left  him  to  his  task.  And  this  was  right,  even  if  the  task 
had  been  of  a  less  delicate  texture ;  but  to-night  it  irritated 
him,  because  it  seemed  to  fit  in  with  his  own  past  attitude. 
Why  should  he  be  regarded  with  some  special  sanctity 
because  he  was  sitting  here  fitting  words  together?  He 
ought  to  be  of  such  robust  mind  that  great  verse  and  prose 
went  surging  and  trampling  through  his  head  and  spoke 
so  loudly  the  domestic  voices  couldn't  jar  their  sequence. 

"  Emily  !  "  he  called  and  she  came  in. 

Seeing  her  in  the  dim  light  beyond  the  circle  of  his  read 
ing  lamp  he  thought,  with  a  recognition  that  seldom  moved 
him  now,  he  was  so  used  to  her,  how  beautiful  she  was,  in 
a  sequestered  way,  how  fine  and  noble.  She  was  so  near  to 
him  in  every  process  of  their  life  together  that  he  seldom 
got  her  far  enough  removed  to  look  at  her  dispassionately. 
He  had,  indeed,  ceased  thinking  about  her.  Need  he  think 


THE   BLACK   DROP  51 

about  his  right  hand,  except  as  it  might  fail  to  serve  him 
with  its  accustomed  adroitness,  or  as  it  needed  kindness 
because  it  was  cramped  and  cold? 

"  Emily,"  said  he,  "  have  you  read  all  my  books?  " 

"  No,"  said  she,  "  not  the  text-books  —  all  of  them." 

"  No,  no,  the  novels.    Have  you  read  them?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  looking  at  him  with  her  direct,  ques 
tioning  sincerity. 

"  The  last  one?  " 

"  I  haven't  finished  it." 

"  Where  did  you  leave  off?  " 

The  color  came  into  her  face,  a  tinge  and  then  a 
surge  of  red.  Norris  seeing  it,  laughed  softly.  He  knew 
he  was  putting  her  in  a  tight  place,  but  he  wasn't  going  to 
help  her  out  of  it. 

"  I  think  "  —  said  she,  and  then  she  paused. 

"  Come,  come,  "  said  he,  with  a  brusqueness  she  knew 
was  feigned,  "  I  don't  mean  paragraphs  and  pages.  I 
mean  the  story.  Take  the  hero.  I  suppose  we've  got  to 
keep  on  saying  hero,  even  if  we're  not  swashbuckling. 
What  was  he  doing?  " 

"  I  think  —    "  said  Emily  again. 

It  can't  be  denied  the  novelist  was  disconcerted ;  still,  he 
was  plainly  enjoying  it.  Norris  always  did,  in  a  mildly 
grim  way,  relish  his  own  discomfiture.  He  was  wont  to 
say  about  some  of  the  ironic  things  that  had  happened  to 
him :  "  It's  a  joke  on  me." 

"  The  amount  of  it  is,"  he  said,  "  you  couldn't  tell  where 
you  were,  to  save  you.  And  I'll  bet  you  knew  that  would 
be  so  and  you've  got  a  bookmark  in.  " 

"  Why,  yes,  "  said  Emily,  plucking  up  spirit  now  there 
was  a  chance  for  practical  rebuttal,  "  I  always  use  a  book 
mark." 


52  THE    BLACK   DROP 

"  Don't  you  see,  "  said  Norris,  "  that  if  the  story'd  been 
absorbing  enough  you  couldn't  have  left  it  five  months 
with  the  book-mark  in?  You'd  have  whirled  over  the 
pages  you  remembered  and  hit  the  one  line  you  hadn't 
read." 

"  I  always  use  a  book-mark,"  said  Emily  again,  obsti 
nately.  "  I  don't  have  much  time  to  read.  You  know 
that,  Norris." 

"  Ah,"  said  Norris,  "  but  if  the  story  was  what  it  ought 
to  be,  you  couldn't  help  reading.  You'd  leave  the  plough 
share  in  the  mould  and  the  needle  in  my  shirt  to  prick  me 
with.  (O  Emily,  that  I  could  once,  only  just  once  be 
stabbed  by  such  a  needle!)  You'd  hide  the  story  under 
cushions  for  fear  somebody'd  get  it  away  from  you.  That's 
the  way  we  used  to  read  books,  Emily  —  some  books.  Now 
— "  he  hurled  it  at  her  — "  what's  the  matter  with 
mine?  " 

And  to  his  amazement  he  got  an  answer. 

"  You  write,"  said  Emily,  "  about  the  insides  of  people." 

Norris  was  so  amazed  that  he  realized,  with  the  same 
suddenness,  how  little  he  had  expected  a  rebuff. 

"  But,"  he  said,  "  what  is  there  about  people  except  their 
insides?  " 

"  There  isn't,"  said  Emily  timidly,  and  yet  also  as  if  she 
had  her  own  argument  intact,  "  much  story." 

"  Story !  "  said  Norris. 

The  progress  of  the  human  soul  through  this  world,  its 
epic  griefs  and  ironies, —  isn't  that,  he  thought,  story? 

"  I  know,"  said  Emily  hastily,  "  there  are  lots  of  people 
that  want  to  know  exactly  how  the  characters  feel,  but  the 
general  run,  Norris,  want  to  know  what  they  do." 

"  I  thought,"  said  Norris  humbly,  "  I  made  them  do 
things.  I  try." 


THE    BLACK   DROP  53 

"  Yes,"  said  she,  "  they  do.  But  it's  almost  all  inside 
them.  And  you  tell  it  beautifully,  Norris,  beautifully. 
But  you  tell  it  like  poetry.  And  John  said  the  other  day, 
life  was  —  it  wasn't  about  books  he  said  it  —  -  but  I  over 
heard  him  saying  it  to  that  poor  Mr.  Brennan  —  he  said 
life  is  —  " 

"  Well,  "  shouted  Norris,  so  that  she  jumped  slightly  in 
her  chair  —  "  what  is  life,  according  to  John?  " 

"  Brass  tacks,"  said  Emily  faintly. 

It  seemed  to  her  horrible  to  bring  such  objects  into  the 
workroom  where  Norris  wrought  his  beautiful  prose ;  but 
he  had  challenged  her.  And  now  she  drew  a  breath  of 
relief  and  smiled  a  little,  for  he  had  burst  into  a  great 
laugh. 

"  So  that,"  said  he,  "  is  life  according  to  John." 

With  that,  she  saw,  he  was  going  to  end  their  literary 
conversation,  and  she  felt  deeply  relieved.  But  he  was 
putting  it  away  to  think  over  by  himself.  He  might  find, 
he  generously  owned,  that  he  was  much  indebted  to  her 
and  John. 

"  We  didn't  get  far  with  Helen,  did  we?  "  he  remarked, 
and  Emily  rose  to  go,  feeling  again  the  imminence  of  high 
tasks  in  this  dedicated  room. 

"  Did  you  mean  to?  "  she  asked. 

"  No,  I  don't  s'pose  I  did.  Not  definitely.  But  after 
what  Charles  said  —  -  well,  what  are  you  going  to  do  about 
it  anyway?  " 

"  About  asking  her  to  stay  with  him?  " 

"  Yes,  yes,"  he  said  impatiently,  when  she  paused,  "  it's 
a  devil  of  a  coil  I  know.  But  how  are  we  ever  going  to  get 
her  side  of  it?  You  didn't  even  ask  her  to  come  again." 

"  I  gave  her  a  key,"  said  Emily. 

"Gave  her  a  key?     When?" 


54  THE    BLACK   DROP 

"  There  at  the  door,  when  you  and  Jessie  were  talking 
about  the  river.  I  gave  her  a  key  and  told  her  that  was 
so  she  could  come  in  any  time,  without  ringing." 

Norris  smiled  broadly  at  her.  He  had  wanted  to  take 
a  stand  without  being  judicial  about  it,  and  he  was  dis 
tinctly  relieved. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  I  guess  you've  cast  your  vote  all 
right." 

But  when  the  family  took  itself  to  bed  it  was,  in  its 
various  ways,  exceedingly  perplexed  over  Helen.  She  was 
herself,  yet  different,  a  little  farther  retired  into  that  inner 
retreat  of  hers  where  nobody  had  a  certainty  of  penetrat 
ing,  or,  if  he  had  in  a  moment  of  his  own  need  or  her  gra- 
ciousness,  no  confidence  in  ever  entering  again.  And  this 
was  not  because  she  gave  a  sense  of  wilful  seclusion:  only 
perhaps  that  her  beauty  was  of  the  nature  of  a  thrilling 
promise  that  only  unimagined  courts  of  the  spirit  could 
fulfil.  For  the  last  year  or  two  she  had  seemed  different 
to  the  family.  Emily,  lying  there  staring  into  the  dark 
and  perfectly  conscious  that  her  husband  was  staring  out 
also  and  interrogating  the  same  spirits  of  night,  could 
not  quite  remember  when  it  began,  or  at  least  if  it 
had  been  long  since  she  noticed  it.  But  she  had  tried 
to  tell  herself,  when  she  first  fancied  Helen  was  growing 
stiller,  a  deeper  shade  of  thought  upon  her,  that  this 
was  because  she  was  traveling  away  from  girlhood, 
contentedly  perhaps  but  still  leaving  behind  her  the  rain 
bow  confusion  of  the  first  of  things.  And  once  a  little 
quick  word  she  dropped  made  Emily  suspect  she  had 
wanted  children,  and  Charles,  Emily  knew,  deliberately 
hated  them.  If  the  word  did  mean  it,  Helen  never  let 
fall  another ;  but  Emily  was  glad  of  that  once,  to  account 
normally  for  the  veiled  gravity  of  her  look.  And  still  the 


THE   BLACK   DROP  55 

look  was  there,  sadder,  more  baffling,  almost  conscious  of 
itself  at  last,  as  if  it  recognized  there  was  something  it 
must  not  tell.  And  no  wonder,  Emily  thought,  blushing 
hot  with  shame  there  in  the  darkness,  if  John  were  right 
and  another  woman  had  driven  her  from  her  home. 


VI 

IT  was  the  next  evening  about  half  an  hour  after  dinner 
that  the  hall  door  opened  softly  and  somebody  slipped  in. 
Emily,  who  was  in  the  dining-room,  glanced  up  from  her 
housewifely  absorption  of  arranging  silver  in  the  side 
board  drawer,  and  saw  a  cloaked  figure  going  up  the  stairs. 
Helen,  she  knew,  and,  remembering  John  was  off  to  his 
gang  and  Norris  for  a  run  on  the  embankment,  she  was 
glad.  Helen  and  grandsir  could  count  on  uninterrupted 
talk. 

When  Helen  reached  grandsir's  door  she  found  it  closed ; 
but  a  slip  of  paper  with  "  Helen  "  written  on  it  faced  her 
from  an  upper  panel.  This  was  a  device  of  grandsir's,  in 
frequently  used  but  often  enough  to  keep  it  in  observance. 
When  he  wanted  one  of  the  family  only,  he  indicated  it, 
and  the  rejected  turned,  unhurt,  away.  Helen  tapped  and, 
on  his  response,  went  in.  There  he  was,  sitting  at  his  writ 
ing  table,  and  he  had  so  scrupulously  rested  for  this  inter 
view  that  he  had  an  emanating  radiance  of  well-being 
that,  old  man  as  he  was,  lent  his  frail  distinction  a  most 
unexpected  charm.  Helen  dropped  her  muff  and  came  to 
him  in  a  swift,  lovely  approach,  all  eagerness. 

"  Well,  my  girl,"  said  he,  "  here's  your  chair." 

It  was  close  by  his,  so  that,  sitting  obliquely  toward  the 
table,  they  faced  each  other.  He  took  her  hands  and  held 
them  a  minute,  and  Helen  met  the  interrogation  of  his 
look.  They  both  smiled,  indeed,  as  if  they  said :  "What- 

56 


THE   BLACK   DROP  57 

ever  spectres  rise  from  the  slain  of  family  warfare,  it 
sha'n't  make  any  difference  to  us."  Grandsir  began: 

"  Charles  has  been  here.     You  knew,  of  course." 

"  No,"  she  said,  "  I  didn't  really  know.  That  is,  no 
body's  told  me." 

"  Well,  you'd  have  guessed  it." 

"  I  wasn't  sure  he'd  got  back.  So  he's  come.  And  that's 
why  everybody  seemed  so  prepared  for  me." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  prepared?  " 

"  You  know,"  said  Helen,  smiling  at  him.  "  They  didn't 
ask  a  question.  Wasn't  it  darling  of  them?  " 

"  Are  you  going  to  tell  me,"  said  grandsir,  "  what  you 
left  him  for?  " 

She  sat  looking  down  at  her  hands,  gently  freed  now 
from  his,  and  smoothing  the  long  gloves  on  her  knee.  But 
he  didn't  follow  her  gaze.  He  studied  her  face  instead,  and 
it  hurt  him  to  see  the  color  come  slowly  into  it  and  dye  it 
to  a  deep  unhappy  crimson.  He  knew  what  that  blush 
meant.  It  was  not  the  misery  of  a  woman  compelled  to 
speak  of  things  that  break  the  ordered  beauty  of  the  social 
world.  Helen  had  no  gauche  timidities.  It  was  suffering 
of  a  deeper  sort.  Then  suddenly  she  looked  up  at  him 
and  he  was  startled  by  the  sadness  of  her  clear  long-lashed 
eyes,  the  stern,  though  soft,  sincerity  of  them. 

"  Do  we  need,"  she  asked,  "  to  go  into  that?  " 

"  No,  "  said  he.  "  Only  I  want  to  be  your  advocate.  I 
want  to  be  able  to  say,  *  I  understand.  I  know  the  whole 
business  and  you  can  take  it  from  me  the  blame  is  not 
hers.'  " 

She  smiled  at  him  with  a  quick  radiance  that  again 
moved  him.  He  couldn't  get  used  to  Helen.  None  of  them 
ever  could.  She  was  change  itself  over  that  deep  unvary 
ing  reticence,  like  light  and  shadows  on  the  sea. 


58  THE    BLACK   DROP 

"  Ask  me,"  she  said.     "  Ask  me  questions." 

"  Well,"  said  he,  plunging  because  that  was  the  only 
course,  "  you  think  he's  doing  things  that  are  —  in  bad 
taste,  we'll  say?  " 

"  Yes." 

She  sat  with  her  eyes  immovably  holding  his,  as  if  she 
had  to  ensure  that  response  also  as  well  as  the  communion 
of  the  lips. 

"  You've  heard  he's  trotting  around  with  a  —  a  Mrs. 
Davenport." 

That  really  startled  her. 

"  How  did  you  know?  "  she  countered.  "  He  didn't  tell 
you." 

"  No.    But  he  did  tell  his  father  and  mother  you  had  left 
him,  and  John  said  afterward  he'd  seen  Charles  running 
round  with  a  newspaper  woman  named  Davenport.     So  — 
it's  natural  to  conclude  —  " 

There  he  left  it,  passed  it  over  to  her,  indeed,  seeming  to 
imply  it  was  up  to  her  to  do  something  with  it.  Helen's 
brows  were  drawn  together  now  in  the  tense  line  of  concen 
tration.  She  took  a  leisurely  long  time  to  make  her  an 
swer. 

"I  don't  think,"  she  said  then,  "that  Mrs.  Daven 
port  is  altogether  my  reason.  You  can  call  her  —  my 
excuse." 

"  Ah !  "  said  grandfather.  His  delicate  face  flushed 
with  the  excitement  of  finding  she  was  as  brave  and  finely 
rash  as  he  had  known  her.  Always  he  had  told  himself, 
Helen  would  want  to  escape  from  Charles.  The  moment 
would  come  with  her  first  discovery  of  the  real  Charles. 
But  her  nature,  the  integrity  of  it,  would  hold  her  to  her 
promise  so  long  as  her  husband  kept  his.  And  now  he  had 
given  her  the  excuse  and  she  was  going. 


THE   BLACK   DROP  59 

"  You  don't  —  "  he  began  and  then  blundered  into  what 
seemed  to  him  a  silly  ending  —  "  you  don't  love  him." 

Helen,  still  with  her  eyes  on  his,  as  if  he  were  the 
defendant  and  she  the  prosecutor,  put  her  question : 

"  Now,  what  is  love?  " 

A  certain  kind  of  person  could  have  asked  that  question 
of  grandsir  and  he  would  have  laughed  and  put  the  mawk 
ish  foolery  by  with  some  foolery  of  his  own.  But  this  was 
Helen.  She  was  the  stillest  of  human  creatures,  locked  up 
in  her  house  of  emotions,  and  she  meant  stark  earnest. 

"Charles's  love?"  said  he.  "Well,  it's  something  I 
shouldn't  have  picked  out,  in  the  open  market,  for  a  girl 
like  you." 

She  hardly  seemed  to  hear  him.  The  question,  indeed, 
might  have  been  one  she  put  to  herself,  having  adventured 
it  many  times  without  finding  an  answer,  and  being,  in  a 
way,  obliged  to  keep  on  with  it  until  somebody  should  in 
vest  her  with  clear  knowledge  and  absolve  her  from  the 
necessity  of  further  dwelling  on  it. 

"  I  can  understand,"  she  said,  "  how  I  could  have  been 
fascinated.  I  saw  in  him  —  everything  —  everything  that 
makes  a  man  worth  living  and  dying  for.  But  how  could  I 
stop  being  fascinated  and  then  see  in  him  nothing  except 
—  other  kinds  of  things !  It  isn't  what  women  do,  you  see. 
They  are  supposed  to  go  on  hoping  and  believing  even 
when  there's  nothing  to  hope  for  or  believe  in  But  if  I 
don't  believe  in  him,  I  simply  don't  love  him.  Just  now  I 
feel  as  —  as  alien  to  him  as  if  he  were  a  stranger  that 
had  broken  into  the  house  and  tied  my  hands  and  I'd  got 
to  sit  there  in  the  chair  where  he  tied  me,  seeing  him  walk 
round  the  room  and  —  well,  just  that." 

Grandfather  had  one  despair  which  accounted  for  the 
personal  mishaps  of  life  and  one  belief  that  seemed  to 


60  THE    BLACK   DROP 

remedy  them.  Domestic  relations,  he  believed,  were  chief 
ly  obliquities.  They  continued  often,  in  a  miserable  bond 
age,  because  all  domestic  life  is  a  sacrifice  to  expediency. 
But  now  here  was  Helen  leaving  her  husband  because  she 
plainly  hated  him  and  daring  to  say  so  without  excuse. 
He  began  to  have  hope  of  the  institution  of  the  family. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  what  are  you  going  to  do?  " 

"  I've  done  it,"  said  Helen,  "  the  worst  of  it.  I've  left 
him." 

"  But  he  thinks  you're  going  to  enter  suit  for  a  divorce." 

"  Yes,"  said  she,  "  I  suppose  he  does.  I  threatened  him, 
in  a  way,  and  he  thought  I  meant  —  that.  But  there's 
something  else  —  it's  the  thing  I  don't  tell  you  that  is  at 
the  bottom  of  it  all.  And  I  can't  tell  you.  I  simply 
can't." 

"  So  it  isn't  Mrs.  Davenport?  " 

"  Ostensibly.  But  it's  as  I  told  you.  She's  not  my  rea 
son.  She's  my  excuse." 

"  Ah,"  said  grandfather,  "  you're  showing  beyond  a 
doubt  how  far  away  from  him  you  are.  If  you  loved  him, 
she'd  be  your  reason." 

"  I  don't  believe  I  do  love  him,"  said  Helen  quietly.  "  I 
told  you." 

All  the  first  vivid  radiance  of  her  face  had  gone.  She 
looked  haggard  and  inexpressibly  wearied.  Her  unhap- 
piness  —  the  trouble  he  had  foreseen  for  her  —  began,  to 
his  mind,  to  stretch  its  roots  down  and  down  so  far  that 
he  saw  no  possibility  of  pulling  up  the  poison  tree.  This 
was  his  surprise.  He  had  called  her  here  to  map  out  her 
course  perhaps,  certainly  to  clear  the  air  that  hung  about 
her  relation  to  the  household  and  assure  her  it  would  be 
kept  undimmed.  But  they  hadn't  even  touched  on  the  real 
matter.  Her  recoil  from  Charles  —  the  inevitable  revul- 


THE   BLACK   DROP  61 

sion  he  had  looked  for  to  bring  about  this  very  parting 
—  was  a  simple  matter  compared  with  the  unknown  causes 
festering  down  there  below. 

"  Now  do  you  need  to  be  mysterious?  "  he  said  gently. 
The  show  of  kindness  was  all  he  dared  offer  her. 

"  I  must,"  she  said. 

"  You're  quite  sure?  there  are  things  you  can't  tell  me?  " 

"  I  can't  tell  you  yet,  anyway." 

"  Does  Jessie  know?  " 

"  No.  Jessie  knows  really  nothing.  She's  been  a  dear 
about  it." 

"  Well,  hang  it  all  !  "  said  grandsir,  in  a  manner  mark 
edly  boyish  in  a  person  over  seventy,  "  I  wish  I  knew !  Is  it 
money?  I  wouldn't  trust  him,  if  he  saw  a  chance  to 
shave  a  corner." 

Helen  laughed  and  her  dimple  came  out. 

"  Aren't  you  the  inquisitive  one?  "  said  she.  "  But  I 
can't  tell  you.  No,  I've  left  Charles.  That's  all  there  is 
to  be  said  about  it.  And  whether  I  accuse  him  —  to  the 
law,  I  mean  —  And  there  she  caught  herself  up  as  if  she 
were  startled  at  having  gone  so  far. 

But  in  the  main  she  was  so  controlled  that  you  would 
have  thought  the  publicity  of  the  courts  meant  nothing  to 
her.  For  a  minute  grandsir  thought  so.  He  concluded 
she  hadn't  pictured  the  hue  and  cry  following  on  a  scan 
dal,  and  that  her  innocence  ought  to  be  enlightened  before 
she  went  irrevocably  on.  But  suddenly  her  face  broke  up 
and  shivered  into  a  misery  that  showed  him  he  was  the  one 
to  be  informed. 

"  That's  why,"  she  said,  in  a  low,  passionate  tone,  "  I'm 
sorry  you've  all  come  up  here.  It  would  have  been  easier 
to  bear  it  down  there  at  Grasslands.  The  reporters  would 
have  gone  down,  of  course,  but  you  could  have  shut  the 


62  THE    BLACK   DROP 

door  against  them.  Here  it's  going  to  be  torture  for  you 
all.  For  Mr.  Tracy  — "  though  she  loved  him  extraordi 
narily,  still  she  wasn't  calling  Norris  father.  She  had  odd 
little  reservations  — "  He'll  be  dragged  into  notoriety, 
and  his  books,  his  dear  books  !  —  and  he's  the  one  to  suffer 
most,  isn't  he?  I  heard  you  say  once  his  soul  is  on  the  out 
side.  Now  isn't  it?  Isn't  his  soul  on  the  outside?  Can't 
you  hurt  it  frightfully  ?  " 

The  directness  of  her  appeal  made  it  seem  as  if  having 
the  soul  on  the  outside  were  a  physical  fact,  and  he  looked 
at  her,  much  troubled,  wishing  she  would  either  tell  him 
all  or  that  he  had  not  persuaded  her  to  tell  him  anything. 

"  Helen,"  said  he,  "  whatever  the  miserable  thing  is,  it's 
quite  clear  to  me  you  ought  not  to  try  bearing  it  alone." 

She  stopped  smoothing  her  gloves  now  —  she  had  pulled 
them  out  into  a  soft  stringiness  not  beneficial  to  gloves  — 
and  she  rose  and  stood  looking  at  him  thoughtfully. 

"  No,"  said  she,  "  I  can't  say  more  than  I  have.  If  I 
were  sure  of  the  right  thing  to  do,  I  might." 

"  Oh,  then  you're  not  altogether  sure?  " 

"  Not  of  that.  Now !  "  Her  manner  brightened  with 
the  return  to  a  sane  topic  untouched  by  mystery.  "  Am  I 
to  come  here?  " 

"  What  did  Emily  tell  you?  " 

"  Well,"  said  Helen,  her  dimple  coming  out  again,  "  she 
gave  me  this  key." 

"  That  seems  decisive  enough." 

"  So  I  thought.  I  couldn't  give  up  mother  —  easily." 
Here  was  another  little  oddity  in  her.  She  had  always, 
though  she  established  no  verbal  intimacy  of  names  with 
the  rest,  called  Emily  mother.  And  she  did  say  grandsir 
because,  as  she  had  once  exasperated  Charles  by  declaring, 
he  was  her  most  intimate  friend. 


THE   BLACK   DROP  63 

"  You  may  meet  Charles,  of  course,"  he  began,  and,  at 
his  tentative  pause,  she  continued,  with  an  unconscious 
dignity : 

"  I  am  not  afraid  of  meeting  Charles." 

"  And  perhaps,"  said  grandsir,  "  that's  another  reason 
why  Emily  gave  you  a  key.  If  you  find  Charles,  you  can 
always  keep  right  on  up  here  and  you'll  find  me  and  my 
legs  swearing  at  each  other." 

Helen  had  picked  up  her  muff.  She  came  back  to  him 
now  with  what,  it  was  plain  to  see,  was  real  solicitude 
though  she  had  left  it  until  so  late. 

"  How  are  your  darling  legs?  "  she  asked. 

"  My  infernal  legs,"  said  grandsir,  "  my  condemned 
and  everlastingly  to  be  consigned  to  perdition  legs  are  as 
outrageous  and  altogether  devilish  as  I've  seen  'em  in  the 
course  of  my  experience  with  'em.  They're  a  joke,  a 
farce.  They  won't  walk.  They  just  hang  on  to  me  like 
tassels  and  ache  —  ache  like  the  deuce." 

"  I  don't  think  it's  a  joke,"  said  Helen  softly.  "  I  think 
it's  a  tragedy." 

She  came  nearer  and  bent  down  and  kissed  him.  Grand- 
sir  loved  her  so  absurdly,  as  he  knew,  so  entirely  unlike  a 
fatherly  person  of  seventy-odd,  that  he  was  ridiculously 
moved  by  the  kiss,  and  didn't  feel  sure  whether  he  gave  it 
back  again.  Soft,  fragrant  lips  of  her!  how  could  God 
make  such  flowers  of  life  and,  apparently  in  ignorance  of 
what  He  had  brought  about,  lend  them  for  ever  so  short  a 
time  to  the  possession  of  Charles?  Grandsir  had  always 
kept  quite  clearly  in  mind  the  sort  of  excellence  which 
should  have  been  the  lover  of  Helen. 

"O  my  dear !  my  dear !  "  he  said,  as  she  turned  away. 
And  she  came  back  to  him. 

"What  is  it,  dear?  "  she  asked.  "  Something  I  could 
do?" 


64  THE    BLACK   DROP 

He  didn't  like  usually   to   have  people   offering  to  do 
things    for    him    in    that    solicitous    way.      It    meant,    he 
thought,  either  his  age  or  his  infirmity.     But  Helen,  offer 
ing  service,  was  different.      It  was   a  grace,  a   charm  — 
well,  it  was  the  consummate  perfection  that  was  Helen. 

"  No,"  said  he,  "  it's  nothing.  It's  only  you,  you  know. 
I  don't  care  about  my  legs,  my  dear,  if  they  make  you  so 
kind  to  me.  I'd  rather  sit  here  tied,  if  it  beguiles  you  into 
kissing  me,  than  get  'em  back  —  if  it  meant  they'd  walk 
me  away  from  you." 

So  Helen  laughed  and  went  and  he  listened  for  the  last 
faint  sound  of  her  on  the  stairs,  and  when  it  had  ceased 
he  sighed  over  youth  and  age  —  the  youth  he  wouldn't 
have  back  again  if  he  could  get  it  for  the  asking  and  the 
age  that  was  his  and  whether  of  value  or  not  he  didn't 
know,  it  was  so  menacingly  near  to  him  —  and  got  out  his 
orchard  plans.  The  memory  of  the  kiss  he  kept  to  taste 
over  again  in  his  wakeful  night  when  the  past  stood  be 
nignly  at  his  bedside  with  the  future,  like  a  hooded  Fate, 
beside  her. 

Helen,  in  the  lower  hall,  stopped  an  instant  to  listen. 
The  dining-room  door  was  closed  now  and  there  were  voices 
and  a  shout  of  laughter.  She  longed  to  go  in.  She  loved 
small  gaieties,  and  the  laughter  —  John's  laugh,  she  knew 
-  told  her  of  what  nature  this  was.  She  felt  daring  in  the 
measure  of  the  dulness  where  she  and  Jessie  daily  found 
themselves.  She  would  go  in. 


VII 

Helen  knew  John  was  in  there  with  some  of  the  gang 
Charles  talked  about  with  a  distaste  touched  by  anxiety. 
Charles  despised  the  gang;  yet  strangely  she  felt  that  he 
was  in  some  degree  afraid  of  it, —  and  was  ashamed  of 
being  afraid,  they  were  so  young  and  untried.  They 
had  something  Charles  himself  couldn't  bound  and  govern, 
something  that  filled  him  with  an  uneasy  sense  of  his  own 
limitations.  He  did  indeed  despise  them,  but  they  were 
so  unfailingly  clever,  so  capable  of  adapting  their  facile 
brains  to  the  language  of  the  market-place,  that  he  saw 
danger  of  their  actually  removing  a  brick  or  two  from  the 
proud  edifice  of  fortune  he  was  trying  so  hard  to  raise. 
They  were  so  absurdly  active  and  out  of  all  measure 
frothing  over  in  this  time  of  war,  so  outspoken  in  praise 
and  condemnation,  and  they  had  no  hesitation  in  taking 
any  means  of  getting  themselves  into  evidence.  They 
would  besiege  a  yellow  journal  with  verses  so  outrageous, 
so  funny,  that  the  yellow  journal  couldn't  for  its  life  help 
printing  them.  They  got  sums  of  money,  Charles  didn't 
know  where  —  when  he  spit  out  his  wrath  to  Helen  he 
said  "  God  knew  "  where  —  and  printed  pamphlets  and 
circulated  them,  and  always  they  stayed  on  the  hither  side 
of  libel.  Their  "  it  is  said's  "  and  their  "  if's  "  were  mas 
terly.  They  were  boys,  according  to  Charles,  but  they  were 
the  cleverest  boys  in  town.  And  Helen,  who  did  love  a  gay 
voice  and  the  quips  of  youth,  longed  now  to  go  in  and 
catch  up  a  crisp  trifle  or  two  to  carry  home  to  Jessie. 
F  65 


66  THE    BLACK   DROP 

More,  she  was  trying  with  all  her  mind  to  understand 
Charles's  activities,  and  any  hand  might  open  a  door  to 
them.  So  she  opened  this  actual  door  and  went  in. 

There  was  confusion  at  the  moment,  a  big  laugh  from 
the  four  young  men  and  Norris  whom  they  had  flatteringly 
begged  to  join  them.  Emily  sat  by  the  window,  sewing. 
Seeing  her,  Helen  felt  an  immediate  calming  of  her  hesi 
tancies.  If  Emily  were  there,  it  wasn't  in  any  sense  a  secret 
session.  They  couldn't  be  "  plotting  their  deviltries,"  as 
Charles  said,  to  any  mysteriously  dark  extent.  And  in  the 
instant  of  standing  there  she  took  in  the  picture  of  them: 
John  by  the  mantle,  lounging  a  little  as  he  often  did,  for 
momentary  ease ;  Finch,  with  his  heavy  irregular  pink  face 
and  light  blue  eyes  and  shock  of  blond  hair  and  the 
spectacles  that  alone  brought  him  the  knowledge  of  the 
world  "  a  foot  before  him  "  ;  Brennan,  thin,  dark,  aquiline, 
with  the  quick  double  note  of  a  cough  that  sometimes 
punctuated  his  talk,  and  Bailey,  with  his  delicate  frame, 
the  blue  eyes  and  pink  cheeks  of  a  girl.  Yet  it  was  Bailey 
who  had  the  most  deadly  designs  on  the  evil  that  walks 
abroad,  and  specified  its  antidotes  with  unique  profanities. 
At  once  they  saw  her  and  each  was  on  his  feet,  while  John 
came  forward  to  present  them  to  her.  He  did  it  with  a 
ceremonious  precision.  This,  his  manner  said,  was  an 
occasion. 

"  I  know  you  already,"  said  Helen,  putting  out  her 
hand  to  one  after  another,  with  her  special  yet  uncon- 
sidered  grace.  "  There  ought  to  be  a  fifth.  Where  is 
he?" 

"  Come  here,  Helen,"  said  Emily.  Norris  had  placed 
another  chair  in  the  window.  "  They're  crazy  boys. 
They  need  us  here  to  keep  their  feet  on  the  ground." 

So  Helen  went  and  sat  with  her  in  the  window,  and  the 


THE   BLACK   DROP  67 

boys  —  they  were  not  really  boys,  we  know,  but  their 
rash  valor  kept  them  this  side  of  manhood  —  they  stared 
at  her  when  they  dared,  and  blushed  and  sat  straighter  and 
each  one  wished  he  knew  how  he  looked  when  he'd  come  in 
like  this  with  his  hair  like  a  crow's  nest  and  his  hands  all 
over  with  the  dust  of  books.  They  looked  at  her,  too, 
in  awe,  for  they  knew  all  about  Charles's  advertising  him 
self  with  Mrs.  Davenport,  and  it  was  in  their  eyes  a 
superhuman  feat  for  this  girlish  creature  to  walk  calmly 
abroad  with  her  furs  and  her  feathers  and  such  a  smile  — 
as  if  she  knew  nothing  about  it  or,  knowing,  was  too  proud 
to  abate  one  jot  of  dignity. 

"Where  is  he?"  she  insisted,  really  for  the  purpose  of 
getting  into  touch,  saying  something  to  draw  them  nearer. 
"What  was  his  name  —  the  one  I  saw?  I  met  him  once 
with  John.  Oh,  I  know.  Niles.  John  said  he  was  one 
of  you." 

"  Not  now,"  said  John.     "  Niles  is  dead." 
"  We  killed  him,"  said  Bailey.      "  He  was  a  pacifist." 
"  Oh,  I  see,"  said  Helen.     "~Does  he  stay  dead?  " 
"  Only  to  us,"  said  Finch.     "  He  walks,  like  the  other 
ghosts,  and  writes  on  walls  that  our  days  are  numbered 
and  finished  because  we  believe  in  fight." 

"  And  you  write  more  things  on  the  wall?  " 
"  No,"  said  Brennan,  "  we  don't  draw  attention  to  him. 
Niles  is  a  good  enough  fellow.     We  had  to  kill  him,  but 
when  it's  all  over  and  the  world's  decent  again  we  shall  dig 
him  up  and  dust  him  off  and  see  if  he's  fit  to  keep." 

"  He'll  have  to  answer  a  good  many  questions  first," 
said  John.  "  He'll  have  to  recant  and  eat  enough  of  his 
words  to  choke  him.  And  then  I  won't  play  with  him. 
No,  by  George,  I  won't.  The  one  thing  I  don't  forgive 
him  is  his  grouch  on  England." 


68  THE    BLACK   DROP 

"  Let  him  grouch,"  said  Norris.  "  England  doesn't 
mind." 

"  But,  dad,  it  means  something  now,"  said  John,  with 
conviction,  "  to  have  even  one  of  us  putting  a  knife  into 
her  and  keeping  up  the  old  fool  grudge.  Don't  you  see 
what  an  awful  time  it  is  when  all  of  us  —  all  the  medi 
ocrities  —  have  got  a  chance  to  speak?  And  the  level  of 
intelligence  is  so  low  all  the  other  mediocrities  listen  to  us 
and  we  persuade  —  yes,  we  do,  father,  we  actually 
persuade  fellows  walking  on  two  feet  —  and  they've  got 
a  vote,  mind  you !  and  that's  why  I'd  gag  Niles,  if  I 
could.  I'd  sand-bag  him  in  a  dark  alley." 

"  Free  speech,"  said  Norris.  He  was  in  a  bad  place, 
he  thought.  He  mustn't  tell  these  young  birds  how  callow 
they  were.  It  was  salutary  for  them  to  know  it,  if  they 
could  manage  it  of  their  own  intuition,  but  he  must  never 
clip  their  audacious  wings.  They  were  like  their  brethren 
flying  in  France,  only  these  were  looping  the  loop  of  the 
passionate  spiritual  life.  They  weren't  in  danger  of  a 
fall  to  death,  like  .the  fliers  in  France,  yet  still,  as  he 
looked  at  them  and  heard  them,  he  thought  there  was  some 
thing  splendid  in  their  fervency.  "  You'd  better  get  down 
to  business,"  he  suggested.  He  wanted  to  know  just  how 
far  they  meant  to  go  while  he  was  here  to  moderate  and 
qualify. 

"  Well,"  said  John,  "  we'd  got  as  far  as  the  money.  I'm 
dead  sure  of  that.  Enough  for  six  months  at  least. 
We're  to  send  out  pamphlets,  written  without  fear  or 
favor.  They're  not  simply  to  pitch  into  the  Potsdam 
gang.  They're  to  pitch  into  our  own  gangs  when  they 
don't  run  straight  — 

"  Oh,"  said  Norris,  with  a  benevolent  resignation,  "you'll 
end  in  jail." 


THE    BLACK   DROP  69 

"Oh,  Mr.  Tracy,  do  you  think  so?  do  you  actually?" 
Bailey  implored  him.  "  That's  the  thing  we  pray  for. 
Oh,  to  be  jugged !  Oh,  to  be  pillowed  in  straw  !  " 

"  What  then?  "  inquired  Norris.  "  The  ladies'  recipe, 
hunger  strike?  " 

"  No,  sir,"  said  Brennan,  "not  on  your  life.  But  when 
we  get  out  —  fulminations  —  thunder  and  lightnings. 
The  young  martyrs  —  les  jeunes!  —  my  God!  why  won't 
they  notice  us !  "  He  had  forgotten  about  Helen  and  her 
beauty  and  struck  his  hand  on  the  table.  They  had  all 
forgotten  Helen,  indeed,  all  but  John,  and  he  glanced  at  her 
to  see  if  she  knew  how  to  take  this  living  earnestness  of 
youth.  John  knew  how  to  take  it,  even  in  himself.  On  one 
side  of  him  he  was  calm.  That  side  always  looked  on  and 
told  him  how  intemperate  he  was  and  what  a  fool  to  topple 
over.  It  told  him  he  and  his  mates  were  needed  —  for  they 
were  clever,  they  knew  —  to  tell  America  day  and  night 
she  must  prepare  for  war,  to  silence  those  voices  that  for 
bade  her  preparing,  and  tell  her  calmly.  But  no  matter 
how  temperate  he  set  out  to  be,  the  bombast  came  in 
too,  and  even  that  he  recognized  as  a  part  of  youth  and 
so  of  a  certain  value.  His  blood  couldn't  run  so  swiftly 
to  his  brain  if  the  heart  wasn't  sending  it.  Helen,  John 
saw,  was  listening  earnestly.  She  was  perhaps  overrating 
the  potency  of  their  youth.  He  liked  it,  though.  He 
didn't  feel  bound  to  qualify  it.  Norris  was  speaking. 

"  Where'd  you  get  your  money  ?  " 

"  Aha  !  "  said  John!!     "  That's  telling." 

"  He'll  have  to  tell  if  anybody  does,"  said  Bailey,  who 
didn't  care  where  money  came  from  if  you  could  print  with 
it.  "  He's  the  only  one  that  knows." 

And  it  was  apparent  that  none  of  them  questioned  John's 
mastery  over  the  mysterious  fund  if  they  only  got  a  little 


70  THE    BLACK   DROP 

room  for  it,  here  at  the  West  End,  if  it  would  run  to  that. 
And  in  the  thick  of  the  discussion  John  slipped  out  and 
ran  headlong  upstairs  to  grandsir  who  was  on  his  couch 
now,  flouting  his  pain  and  remembering  Helen.  The  slip 
on  the  door  had  fluttered  down  and  was  lying  on  the  sill. 

"  Grandsir,"  said  John,  "  dad's  asked  who  gave  us  the 
money." 

"  Well,  you  didn't  tell  him,  did  you?  "  inquired  grandsir. 

"  No.     I  asked  him  was  his  grandmother  a  monkey." 

"  That's  right,"  said  grandsir.  "  Be  firm  and  tactful. 
No,  he'd  think  I  was  going  to  have  less  for  apple  trees  and 
folderol." 

"  But  are  you,  grandsir?  "  asked  John,  smitten. 

"Am  I  what?" 

"  Going  to  have  less  for  apple  trees  —  too  much  less,  I 
mean?  " 

"  No,"  said  grandsir.  "  Besides,  the  apple  trees  are 
only  makeshifts.  I  get  more  fun  out  of  your  deviltries. 
And  I  was  thinking  last  night  I  guessed  I  could  put  in  a 
hundred  or  so  more  without  going  broke." 

John  told  him  he  was  a  sport,  the  commendation  grand- 
sir  liked  most,  and  went  off  again  to  his  committee,  who 
were  still  talking  fast  and  all  together,  about  the  cost  of 
printing,  the  distribution  of  pamphlets,  the  question 
whether  the  papers  would  quote  them.  And  in  a  lull,  while 
Norris  told  them  what  he  thought  —  for  they  did  really 
respect  his  viewpoint  —  a  voice  came  in  from  the  hall,  the 
voice  of  Charles.  Everybody  started,  everybody  but 
Helen ;  and  the  ones  who  hadn't  time  to  get  themselves  in 
hand  looked  at  her:  one  glance  of  inquiry  that  instantly 
withdrew  itself.  Emily  got  up  and  laid  her  sewing  hastily 
aside. 

"I'll  go,"  said  she. 


THE   BLACK   DROP  71 

"  I'm  going,  mother,"  said  Helen,  with  a  perfect  as 
sumption  of  having  come  to  make  a  social  call  and  ter 
minating  it  unhurried.  "  Good-by." 

The  boys  rose,  with  a  little  tumult  of  feet  and  chairs. 
She  was  smiling  round  the  circle.  Each  of  them  felt  she 
had  tossed  him  a  special  glance  of  a  rarely  selected  value. 
Then  she  went,  and  they  heard  the  outer  door  immediately 
close.  It  was  impossible  not  to  conclude  she  had  met 
Charles  face  to  face,  and,  whether  they  had  spoken  or  not, 
that  their  greeting  had  been  brief.  And  Charles  himself, 
when  he  came  in,  confirmed  the  probability.  He  was  red 
arid  his  brow  was  lowering. 

"  I  should  like  to  be  told,"  he  was  pelting  on,  in  the  im 
petus  of  a  sentence  begun  as  he  opened  the  door  and  choked 
off  as  abruptly  when  he  saw  the  family  was  not  alone. 
Emily  had  resumed  her  seat  by  the  window  and  was  taking 
up  her  work. 

"  Come  over  here,  Charles,"  she  said.     "  Here's  a  chair." 

But  Charles,  in  the  moment  of  recognition,  had  changed. 
His  frown  smoothed  out.  He  smiled,  actually  smiled 
broadly  with  a  radiance  of  white  teeth.  John  hadn't  seen 
him  in  that  holiday  humor  for  a  long  time,  because,  when 
Charles  came  to  see  the  family,  he  wasn't  usually  trying  to 
persuade  them  to  do  something  but  telling  them  what  he 
had  done  or  the  things  he  had  endured  from  a  fool  world. 
Suddenly,  like  a  flash  turned  on  a  picture  shrouded  in  dark 
ness,  John  saw  the  Charles  he  had  forgotten,  the  one  who 
had  charmed  Helen  into  forgetting  he  was  an  ogre  at 
points  and  no  doubt  was  charming  Mrs.  Davenport  now. 
Charles  pulled  up  a  chair  and  his  father  moved  along  to 
bring  him  to  the  table. 

"  Going  to  let  us  smoke,  mother?"  he  inquired,  bringing 
out  his  pipe. 


72  THE    BLACK   DROP 

"  Yes,"  said  Emily.  "  Besides,  I'm  going  away.  No, 
no,"  she  added,  when  the  boys  began  protesting,  "not  for 
that.  I  like  smoke,  really.  I  ought  to  have  gone  before, 
but  I  love  to  hear  you  boys." 

Meantime  she  was  gathering  up  her  work  and  now  she 
went,  Bailey  opening  the  door.  Bailey  couldn't  remember 
any  women-folk  of  his  own  with  anything  but  wondering 
endurance.  Emily  Tracy  seemed  to  him  of  nature's  best. 
Now  Charles,  having  lighted  his  pipe,  turned  to  Finch  with 
the  same  winning  smile,  the  implication  of  good  fellowship, 
that  was  giving  John  a  succession  of  surprises. 

"  I  wanted  to  come  on  you,"  said  Charles.  "  You've 
been  lampooning  me." 

Finch's  small  eyes  looked  smaller  and  his  red  face  redder. 
The  powerful  hand  lying  on  the  table  unconsciously  drew 
itself  together  into  a  fist,  not  for  use,  but  indicating  his 
unacknowledged  state  of  mind. 

"  No,"  said  he,  "  I  wrote  a  character  sketch  of  you. 
That's  not  lampooning." 

"  How  did  it  go  ?  "  asked  Charles  pleasantly. 

He  drew  forth  his  pocketbook  and  extracted  from  it  a 
clipping  slowly  and  with  an  air  of  private  enjoyment,  as  if 
the  process  might  in  itself  intimidate  or  exasperate  some 
body.  He  began  reading,  this  also  with  a  meaning  delib 
eration. 

"  '  He  has  just  one  object :  to  boost  Charles  Tracy.  He 
is  virtually  a  pacifist,  because  he  doesn't  want  to  see  Amer 
ica  in  the  war.  And  the  reason  he  doesn't  want  to  see 
America  in  the  war  is  that  certain  big  interests  of  his  own 
can  only  be  carried  out  if  America  is  at  peace.' ':  He  looked 
down  the  clipping  to  the  end,  smiling  a  little,  not  in  an 
amusement  insulting  to  its  quality  but  with  an  almost  gen 
ial  interest.  "  No,"  he  said  tolerantly,  "  I  won't  read  it 


THE    BLACK    DROP  73 

all.  Do  you  know  it,  father?  Yes,  I  thought  so."  He 
returned  it  to  his  pocket.  "  But,"  he  said,  with  a  pat 
ently  ingenuous  appeal  to  them  to  be  as  old  as  he  was,  as 
soon  as  possible,  and  as  wise,  though,  so  inconsiderable 
were  they  that  he,  at  least,  shouldn't  take  the  trouble  of 
correcting  them,  even  for  their  good,  "  I  suppose  you  chaps 
know  you're  laying  yourselves  open  to  about  fifteen  libel 
suits  a  day,  the  way  you're  going  on." 

"  We're  agreeable,"  said  Bailey.  His  pink  cheeks 
glowed.  His  eye-glasses  fell  off,  and  left  his  face  absurdly 
young.  "  Get  us  into  court  and  cross-examine  us  and 
won't  they  hear  a  few  things  they  don't  expect?  Oh,  no !  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Brennan.  He  had  been  looking  at  Charles 
with  open  hostility.  He  was  feeling  under  the  weather  to 
day  in  a  fashion  that  told  him  he  would  be  banished  again 
shortly  to  salutary  airs  and  the  country  life  he  loathed. 
"  By  God !  if  you  think  we  say  all  we've  got  to  say  —  " 

Charles  turned  to  him  with  the  quick  beginning  of  a 
frown,  instantly  obliterated.  Brennan  was  disgusting 
to  him.  He  hated  the  very  hint  of  physical  weakness  or 
omen.  The  world,  he  thought,  is  a  place  where  you  want 
to  live  while  you  live.  You've  got  to  leave  it  sometime. 
What's  the  use  of  reminding  yourself  of  that  inevitable 
and  most  obnoxious  end?  There  ought  to  be  a  law  to 
keep  lame  ducks  shut  up  out  of  sight  of  normal  folk.  But 
he  was  instantly  the  conciliatory  Charles  again. 

"  I  wish,"  he  said,  "  you  fellows  would  come  and  dine 
with  me  —  to-night,  say,  at  my  house." 

John  threw  him  a  glance  frankly  and  insultingly  sur 
prised. 

"  Oli,  come,  Charles,"  he  said,  "  we  don't  want  to  be  fed." 

"  Won't  anybody  come?  "  asked  Charles,  looking  round 
the  circle.  "  I'd  like  to  compare  notes.  Hang  it !  if  a 


74  THE    BLACK   DROP 

fellow  you've  lampooned  as  you  have  me  wants  to  sit  down 
and  talk  things  over,  you  ought  to  be  willing  to  indulge 
him." 

But  they  were  shy  of  him ;  they  were  hostile.  And  they 
didn't  even  do  him  the  grace  to  invent  the  most  trivial  ex 
cuse.  It  was  simply  an  atmosphere  of  negation.  Brennan 
got  up  from  his  seat  and  instantly  the  others  rose  also, 
with  the  air  of  relief  incident  to  being  shown  a  way  out 
which  they  hadn't  the  address  to  find  themselves.  They 
mumbled  a  good-by  to  Norris,  and  John  followed  them,  so 
that,  in  a  minute  more,  the  door  had  closed  on  them  and 
Charles,  now  bereft  of  smiles,  was  left  with  his  father. 

Charles  smoked  heavily,  in  an  absorbed  brooding,  and 
Norris,  who  seemed  to  himself  in  for  it  with  no  Emily  to 
protect  him,  also  began  smoking,  with  a  patient,  whimsical 
look  of  intending  to  do  his  best.  Suddenly  Charles  turned 
upon  him. 

"  Well,"  said  he.  And  then  as  Norris  did  not  answer 
that  tacit  invitation,  "  What  the  devil  was  she  here  for?  " 

"  Who?  "  Norris  inquired  mildly.     "  Your  mother?  " 

"  Helen.    You  didn't  ask  her  here  to  meet  those  idiots?  " 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Norris  easity.  "  She  came,  that  was  all. 
It  just  happened.  The  idiots  were  already  here." 

"  What  did  they  come  for?  anything  special?  " 

"  Oh,  no.     They  drop  in,  you  know,  to  see  John." 

"  Of  all  the  asses  —  '  Charles  began.  And  then  he 
threw  the  asses  overboard  and  turned  to  the  real  matter 
in  hand.  "  What  does  Helen  say?  " 

"  Nothing." 

"  Nothing?     She  hasn't  talked  to  you?  " 

"  Not  a  word." 

"  This  the  first  time  she's  been  in?  " 

"  No,  she's  been  in  before." 


THE   BLACK   DROP  75 

"What'd  she  say  then?" 

"Oh,  nothing  —  of  importance.  Jessie  was  with  her. 
They  talked  about  their  housekeeping  a  little  —  with  your 
mother,  chiefly.  I  was  contented  to  sit  and  look  at  them. 
Lovely  creatures !  " 

"  Helen's  all  right  enough,"  said  Charles,  still  brooding. 
"  Jessie's  a  fool." 

"Oh,  no,  she  isn't,"  said  Norris  conclusively.  "  Jessie's 
far  from  being  a  fool." 

"Now  do  you  mean  to  tell  me  mother  didn't  open  up  the 
subject  with  Helen?  " 

"The  subject  of  you?" 

"  Yes.  Didn't  either  you  or  mother  ask  Helen  point 
blank  whether  she  hadn't  realized  she'd  got  to  come  back 
tome?" 

Norris  took  out  his  pipe  and  laid  it  down.  He  was  re 
pudiating  even  that  small  assuaging  influence.  He  wanted 
to  be  even-minded  and  unmoved. 

"  Charles,"  said  he,  "  your  mother  won't  do  that.  I 
sha'n't  do  it.  If  you've  offended  Helen  —  given  her  cause 

—  we'd  rather  she'd  leave  you  than  not.  In  fact  — 
Norris  paused  a  moment,  his  strong  distaste  for  Charles, 
by  his  very  amazement  at  it,  making  him  dumb.  How 
could  a  father,  his  novel-writing  habit  of  analysis  chal 
lenged  him  to  tell,  how  could  a  father  feel  for  a  son  the  con 
demnation  he  felt  for  Charles?  He  was  inwardly  per 
suaded  Emily  felt  it,  too,  only  that  he  could  never  go  into, 
even  in  his  nethermost  mind,  it  was  so  palpably  shocking 
to  suspect  a  mother  of  spiritually  repudiating  the  son  of 
her  body.  "  In  fact,"  he  continued,  determined,  out  of 
sheer  bravado,  to  finish,  "  Helen's  always  been  a  plaguy 
sight  too  good  for  you.  And  now  —  if  you've  given  her 
cause  —  Norris  suddenly  got  on  his  feet,  and  ended 


76  THE    BLACK   DROP 

with  a  disgust  he  hadn't  for  a  moment  meant  intemperately 
to  show.  "  Damn  it,"  he  said  —  and  the  "  it  "  was  added 
because  he  suddenly  had  a  rushing  sense  that  he  was  going 
to  damn  Charles  himself  —  "  I'm  ashamed  of  you." 

Charles,  too,  got  up  and  they  stood  there  looking  at  each 
other,  Norris  with  a  sense  of  exultation  he  hadn't  felt 
since  the  war  began,  since  brooding  on  that  limitation  in 
the  lives  of  men  beyond  which  the  old  and  physically  weak 
have  had  to  lament  their  inability  to  strike  great  blows  and 
die  deaths  of  anguish.  Charles  didn't  answer.  His  face 
was  black  and  ugly,  and  his  father  thought  he  was  refrain 
ing  because  the  things  he  had  to  say  were  blacker  still. 
He  turned  and  walked  out  of  the  room,  and  to  his  mother, 
waiting  for  him  in  the  hall,  he  did  not  speak.  Emily  came 
on  into  the  room  where  her  husband  still  stood. 

"Have  you  had  any  trouble?  "  she  asked  quickly,  yet 
with  her  perfect  quiet. 

Norris  recalled  himself. 

"  Trouble?  "  said  he.  Then  he  laughed  a  little.  The 
novelist's  habit  told  him  this  was,  judged  by  the  standards 
of  the  inner  life,  a  good  deal  of  trouble.  He  had  virtu 
ally  damned  Charles  who  was  his  son  and  he  couldn't  re 
gret  it. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  it  depends  on  what  you  call  trouble. 
I  told  him  we  were  standing  by  Helen." 

"  Yes,"  said  Emily.  She  was  absently  brushing 
Charles's  tobacco  ash  from  the  table.  "  Of  course. 
That's  what  we've  got  to  do." 


VIII 

THE  world  may  never  have  been  so  prolific  in  dreams  as 
since  the  great  war  began.  Fat,  lush  products,  some  of 
these  dreams  were,  sprung  from  the  miasma  of  hate  and 
lust  of  power,  and  others  sheltering  trees,  of  the  beauty  of 
young  men's  sacrifice.  There  were  the  dreams  of  John  and 
his  gang.  For  them,  as  for  the  men  dying  in  Europe,  it 
was  a  young  man's  war.  These  four  had,  in  the  tumul 
tuous  beginning,  taken  themselves  off  to  Canada,  in  a 
mad  longing  to  enlist.  What  they  could  have  expect 
ed,  considering  their  most  tragic  limitations,  they  did 
not  allow  themselves  to  guess.  But  they  went.  It  was 
in  as  unthinking  a  rush  as  if  they  had  seen  the  first 
Hun  murdering  the  first  baby  in  Belgium.  These  were 
headlong  lads,  ready,  before  the  great  call  came,  to  run 
and  stumble  and  rejoice  on  the  road  of  youth,  never  count 
ing  costs,  always  with  the  gleam  before  them  and  the 
pitfalls  covered  at  their  feet.  Now,  who  should  stay  them? 
But  Canada  did  stay  them,  with  a  kind  precision.  Finch 
had  hardly  thought,  if  he  put  his  glasses  in  his  pocket 
and  went  stumbling  in,  whether  his  myopic  eyes  would  be 
held  against  him,  and  Brennan,  convinced  he  had  breath 
enough  to  curse  the  Hun,  scarcely  thought  his  unservice 
able  lung  would  prove  his  undoing,  and  Bailey,  who  felt 
the  strength  of  ten,  was  furious  at  the  flaws  they  found  in 
him.  And  John,  who  had  hated  his  lameness  chiefly  from 
its  hostility  toward  brave  sports,  wouldn't  admit  it  should 
cut  him  off  from  fighting.  What  was  the  use  of  a  trench 

77 


78  THE    BLACK   DROP 

if  a  lame  man  couldn't  die  in  it?  But  there  they  were, 
insufficient,  done  for.  They  came  back  wilted,  soured 
temporarily,  before  anybody  knew  they  had  gone.  But 
they  instantly  came  to  life,  assembled  their  scattered 
forces  and  considered.  What  could  they  do  now?  Could 
John  fly?  A  cunningly  devised  gantlet  of  tests  proved  to 
him  he  could  not.  But  as  it  became  apparent  that  all 
the  forces  of  evil  were  to  lull  the  United  States  to  a  false 
security,  they  determined  they  would,  having  equal  rights 
with  prevailing  pedagogy,  set  up  for  little  schoolmasters. 
If  they  had  no  blood  to  give  the  world,  they  would  give 
their  brains.  They  would  discard  the  highbrow  literature 
they  had  been  pursuing,  throw  it  overboard,  not  worth 
keeping  even  for  ballast,  and  be  so  impudent  and  so  funny 
that  nobody  could  afford  not  to  read  them.  They  didn't 
like  this  compromise  of  theirs.  Youth  doesn't  want  to 
spend  itself  in  talk  when  it  is  straining  to  throw  its  whole 
bodily  weight  into  the  scale  of  deeds.  They  had  a  whole 
some  scorn  of  talk  at  this  time,  but  it  was  their  chosen  and 
only  activity  to  wallow  in,  to  wipe  out  the  insidious  trail 
of  false  persuasion  and  high-sounding  platitude. 

These  were  not  the  onl\r  dreams  the  war  engendered. 
Charles  and  men  like  him  also  had  their  dreams.  Charles 
had  always  assumed  that  he  was  to  live  fatly,  that  he  was 
to  walk  dashingly  along,  setting  his  foot  on  impudent 
obstacles,  to  an  unimagined  goal  of  superb  authority.  He 
never  really  thought  about  the  goal ;  his  eyes  were  on  the 
daily  accquisitions  that  were  taking  him  there.  But  now, 
when  the  curtain  was  rung  up  on  the  war,  it  disclosed  the 
intimate  scene  which  was  to  be  his  part  therein.  Suddenly 
there  was  born  anew  in  him  the  lust  for  power.  Why 
shouldn't  he  succeed,  as  well  as  another  man,  and  succeed 
supremely?  In  this  time  of  great  shifting  action,  pan- 


THE   BLACK   DROP  79 

orama  of  the  world's  colossal  values  which  were  to  bring 
whole  nations  into  a  blaze  of  splendor  and  cast  down  others 
to  unimaginable  depths,  would  not  one  man  rather  than 
another  have  the  right  to  feel  that  his  star,  too,  might  blaze? 
Charles's  dream  was  concrete ;  it  had  solid  edges.  And 
no  wonder,  for  he  had  been  offered  definite  bribes.  He 
had  no  doubt  that  Germany  was  to  triumph  over  her 
enemies  —  he  called  them,  in  the  inner  circle  where  the 
bribes  were  offered  him,  her  enemies,  as  if  they  had  long 
been  conspiring  against  her,  and  referred  always  to  the 
war  that  had  been  forced  upon  her.  His  reason  told 
him  she  would  be  triumphant ;  persuasive  lips  also  told 
him  plainly  what  he  was  to  get  for  working  toward  the 
coming  triumph  and,  in  all  circumstances,  holding  his 
tongue.  It  is  a  little  difficult  to  see  how  those  lips,  though 
smeared  with  guile,  could  have  persuaded  Charles  so  read 
ily.  Perhaps  they  half  cajoled,  half  threatened;  for  he 
had  shady  paths  in  his  life,  overgrown  now,  he  thought, 
with  kind  oblivion.  He  didn't  want  Helen  to  hear  there 
ever  were  such  paths,  and  even  a  month  before  the  begin- 
ing  of  the  war  he  considered  Helen  his,  so  literally  that 
it  would  have  been  unthinkable  disaster  to  be  removed 
from  her  even  to  the  point  of  trivial  differences.  The 
clever  brains  were  following  out  an  old  German  formula 
for  setting  up  a  spy  in  the  business :  to  find  out  something 
damnatory  in  the  spy's  own  life  and  hold  it  over  him 
until  you  have  made  him  take  up  the  trade  himself :  a 
spiritual  blackmail. 

And  why  did  the  clever  intelligences  want  Charles  so 
much?  How  had  they  singled  him  out  in  his  quiet  eastern 
city?  It  was  the  nemesis  of  a  dirty  trick  he  had  done  in 
the  market,  a  couple  of  years  before,  when  some  scores  of 
his  countrymen  had  got  bitten,  so  that  they,  who  also  knew 


80  THE   BLACK   DROP 

Charles's  nimble  ways,  admired  while  they  damned  him, 
and  he  got  put  on  neat  card  catalogues  that  had  been 
making  for  a  long  time  in  view  of  this  coming  of  the 
Teuton  wrath.  No  fry  was  too  small  for  that  card 
catalogue ;  and  indeed  Charles  wasn't  small  fry  at  all. 
He  was  a  marked  man,  recognized  in  sections  far  removed 
from  his,  as  the  sort  of  merchandise  that,  in  any  wreck, 
was  bound  to  float.  Men,  when  they  were  done  by  him, 
cursed  him,  but  grinned  sometimes  as  they  did  it,  the 
job  had  been  so  neat,  and  he  so  impeccably  on  the  side 
of  legal  uprightness  and  virtue.  His  father  was  wont  to 
exclaim  to  himself,  in  despairing  admiration,  "  Where  the 
devil  did  he  get  that  tongue?  "  And  he  knew.  Charles 
had,  like  himself,  the  knack  of  words,  only  they  not  only 
flowed  off  the  pen  point  but  into  the  mould  of  fluent  speech. 
Norris  felt  as  if  he  had  rashly  given  it  to  him,  and  when 
Charles  persuaded  somebody's  dollars  into  his  own  pocket, 
Norris  fought  the  shame  of  being  somehow  responsible. 
And  now  Charles,  to-night,  shortly  after  his  father  had 
sent  him  away  damned,  came  out  of  his  own  house  and 
stood  a  minute  thinking,  while  he  tapped  his  stick  on  the 
pavement.  He  had  started  with  a  fully  determined 
purpose  of  going  to  see  Helen,  of  besieging  her  in  the 
apartment  which  was  her  refuge,  of  arguing,  of  snatching 
her  up  bodily  on  the  wings  of  persuasion  and  carrying  her 
away  from  Jessie  who,  he  persisted  in  telling  himself, 
was  the  most  dangerous  enemy  he  had.  He  was  inexo 
rably  determined  that  Helen  should  not  take  herself  away 
from  him.  However  he  regarded  her,  she  was  necessary 
to  the  outer  blamelessness  of  his  private  life.  But  his 
determination  cooled  in  the  night  air  and  the  solitude  of 
the  streets.  He  felt  suddenly  lonesome  and  old,  he  who 
had  not  yet  reached  the  middle  years.  He  wouldn't  go  to 


THE   BLACK   DROP  81 

her.  He  couldn't  carry  it  through,  and  failure  would  be 
disastrous,  worse  than  if  he  had  attempted  nothing.  And 
with  a  man's  mad  rush  of  haste  toward  the  woman  who  has 
always  sympathized  while  she  charmed  and  never  blamed 
or  bullied,  he  turned  about  and  walked  over  to  Mrs. 
Davenport's,  the  quiet  subdued  street  where  she  had  her 
big  apartment  over  a  shop.  There  she  lived  alone,  a  little 
maid  coming  in  by  day.  There  one  and  another  whistled 
up  her  speaking  tube  and  the  door  usually  clicked  for  them ; 
there  midnight  and  long  past  midnight  meetings  went  on 
where  the  matters  preserved  in  the  card  catalogues  were 
discussed,  and  pieces  of  human  destiny  were  fitted  together 
with  fine  precision.  He  whistled  up  the  tube  and  gave  his 
name.  She  was  there,  and  when  he  went  up  the  wide 
staircase  that  had  once  been  magnificent  but  now  echoed 
nakedly  to  his  tread,  he  prayed  his  little  gods  she  would 
be  alone.  And  again  his  thoughts  flew  back  to  Helen. 
Did  he  love  her  still,  or  why  was  he  so  horribly  disquieted 
in  his  solitary  state  without  her?  He  could  not  have  told. 
He  only  knew  he  was  furious  with  her,  and  at  the  same  time 
nervously  shaken  because  she  had  gone. 

He  heard  the  opening  of  the  door.  Elsa  —  he  hadn't 
the  least  belief  that  this  was  really  her  name  —  usually 
delayed  until  he  rang ;  but  now  she  was  standing  at  the  sill 
waiting  for  him,  a  slender,  not  very  tall  creature,  with 
bright  gold  hair,  ivory  skin,  and  a  dress  of  yellow  satin, 
heavy  with  embroidery,  that  gave  him  a  feeling  of  her  being 
unreal,  gold  all  through  perhaps,  a  bizarre  and  wonderful 
toy  made  to  beguile  the  forlornness  of  a  man's  life.  As 
he  came  upon  her,  a  bright  gold  fairy  in  her  strange 
perfection,  his  need  of  her  —  or  of  something  golden  and 
not  forlorn  like  his  own  miserable  house  —  struck  him 
with  a  pang,  and  he  put  his  arms  about  her  and  drew  her 
G 


82  THE    BLACK   DROP 

to  him  roughly.  She  was  not,  fairy  as  she  seemed,  to  be 
astonished  by  any  move  in  the  game  of  folly ;  but  she  had 
subtile  ways  of  indicating  a  surprised  reluctance.  Did 
she  love  him?  He  had  never  been  able,  after  he  had  left 
her,  to  assure  himself  by  any  evidence  that  stood  the  test 
of  memory.  Now  she  was  not  blushing  or  showing  a 
heart's  beat  of  confusion.  One  thing  lay  always  between 
them,  however  rushingly  the  tide  of  destiny  was  hurling 
them  toward  each  other:  her  knowledge  of  the  determina 
tion  in  his  angry  mind  to  drag  his  wife  back  to  him.  Yet 
they  had  never  spoken  of  this.  Only  the  woman,  through 
some  sensitiveness  of  her  mercurial  mind,  was  aware  of 
it,  and  he  felt  in  her  the  force  of  her  ironic  comment. 

"  Please !  "  she  said,  in  a  quick  little  whisper,  and  some 
how  was  outside  the  rough  encircling  —  he  didn't  quite 
see  how.  She  did  everything  with  a  swift  grace  and  clever 
ness  ;  and  he  was  made  to  feel  at  once  that  however  he 
might  stretch  his  mind  to  ultimate  and  practical  avowals, 
they  were  not  to  be  now.  So  they  went  in  together  and 
she  took  his  hat  and  stick  and  then  gave  them  back  to  him 
in  a  pretty,  intimate1  way  and  showed  him  where  he  was  to 
put  them.  It  was  his  place.  When  he  came  and  she 
wasn't  there  —  she  said  a  dozen  beguiling  things  in  the 
course  of  a  minute  to  show  him  it  was  his  place.  And 
while  they  still  stood  and  he  had  put  out  his  hand  for  hers, 
because  the  pretty  palm  of  it  he  must  have  if  her  lips  were 
not  to  be  besieged  in  this  first  minute,  a  falsetto  cry  and 
a  chuckle  came  from  the  next  room,  and  the  voice  of  the  cry 
called  mockingly : 

"  O  law  !    law !    what  a  fuss  !  " 

Elsa  laughed  and  took  away  her  hand.  Impossible 
to  be  gracefully  amorous  with  a  parrot  jeering  at  you 
in  the  next  room. 


THE   BLACK   DROP  83 

"  I  believe  that  bird  is  the  devil,"  said  Charles,  who  had 
a    memory    of    kindred    interruptions    accurately    timed. 
"  Why  can't  you  throw  a  black  thing  over  his  cage  — 
if  you  won't  throttle  him?  " 

"  Poor  Polly !  "  said  Elsa,  "  my  only  company  after 
you're  gone.  You  ought  to  be  grateful  to  poor  Polly." 

So  they  sat  down  together,  he  in  the  most  comfortable 
of  chairs  a  man  could  wish,  and  he  lighted  up. 

Then  the  whole  thing  came  over  him,  the  vision  of  his 
lost  home  still  etched  upon  his  mind  and  this  present 
paradise  he  shared  with  a  dozen  others,  for  all  he  knew, 
and  he  asked  bitterly: 

"  Now  —  what  am  I  going  to  get  out  of  it  all?  " 

It  was  one  of  her  strangenesses  that  she  never  went 
straight  to  crucial  points.  There  were  obliquities  in  her 
reassurances,  always  in  the  straightest  and  most  irre 
proachable  of  words.  And  so  she  fascinated  the  more  and 
drew  him  on  the  faster.  If  she  had  said  to  him :  "  In  five 
years,  after  all  the  great  downfalls,  you  and  I  are  going 
to  live  together  with  unlimited  money  and  power  among  the 
conquerors,"  he  might  have  laughed  at  her.  Instead  she 
told  him  he  was  to  be  rewarded,  and  looked  at  him.  And 
now  as  she  told  him  so  again,  in  one  form  or  another, 
and  he  knew  what  Teuton  tongue  had  assured  her  of  it, 
he  was  suddenly  engulfed  in  a  wave  of  jealous  hatred. 

"  Look  here,"  he  said,  "  what's  he  been  to  you?  " 

She  sat  up  straight  in  her  chair.  Her  nostrils  di 
lated  as  if  she  felt  scorn  —  was  it  of  him  or  the  other 
man?  —  and  her  long  golden  lashes  were  two  shining  lines. 

"  You're  not  to  ask  me  those  things,"  she  said. 

But  now  he  was  suddenly  drunk  with  anger  against  her 
and  the  chamber  of  mystery  that  closed  her  in. 

"What's  he  been  to  you?     I've  got  to  know."     But 


84  THE    BLACK   DROP 

she  continued  looking  at  him,  and  he  saw  she  would  not 
answer.  The  terrible  inaccessibility  of  women  —  some 
women  —  came  over  him  and  inspired  him  with  a  sickness 
of  rage.  Helen  was  inaccessible  in  her  silences.  This 
woman  in  —  what?  "  If  you  won't  tell  me  that,"  he  said, 
"  what  is  he  to  you  now?  Now,  I  say.  Tell  me  that.  It's 
only  decent." 

Then  she  did  answer. 

"  Nothing,"  clearly,  though  disdainfully,  as  it  might  be 
of  him,  and  he  said : 

"  Then  come  over  here  and  kiss  me." 

And  she  came.  She  left  her  chair  and  went  over  to  him 
like  a  fairy  child  and  gave  him  a  kiss  of  Circe.  But  she 
went  back  to  her  seat  again  with  such  an  indefinable  air 
of  old  weariness  that,  though  he  rose  to  follow  her,  he 
dropped  back  into  his  own  place. 

"  Now,"  she  said.  He  had  never  heard  her  voice  keyed 
to  such  resonant  force.  "  We  can  talk." 

Something  was  accomplished,  she  had  paid  him  a  little 
on  account,  and  they  could  talk.  But  he  wouldn't  talk 
about  Helen.  He  never  had  tolerated  a  word  about  her 
yet.  There  were  unconscious  inhibitions,  perhaps  fruit 
of  the  Tracy  tree  from  which  he  seemed  to  be  such  an  alien 
offshoot.  Proprieties,  they  were,  accepted  moral  stand 
ards  that  made  a  part  of  his  personal  self-importance. 

"  You  are,"  she  said,  "  to  buy  out  the  Republican 
Voice." 

He  was  taken  completely  by  surprise. 

"  They  won't  sell,"  he  objected.  "  They'd  laugh  at  me. 
They're  as  old  as  Boston." 

"  They  will  sell,"  she  said.  "  They're  on  their  last  legs. 
Don't  you  remember  that  young  nephew  business?  He 
was  no  good.  He  drew  a  salary  and  spent  it  on  chorus 


THE   BLACK  DROP  85 

girls.  You  remember  the  libel  suit  he  got  the  paper  into 
and  how  the  old  subscribers  dropped  off?  They  couldn't 
countenance  it.  And  the  Voice  managed  to  pull  through. 
But  now  they're  in  mud  they  can't  draw  their  legs  out  of. 
We've  bought  up  their  notes  and  we're  worrying  them. 
Oh,  they'll  sell." 

"  Then  what?  "  he  asked. 

"  You're  to  see  Marshall  to-morrow.  He's  the  head  of 
the  clan.  It  was  his  nephew  that  landed  them  in  the  soup. 
You're  to  meet  every  objection.  The  policy  of  the  paper 
-  you'll  continue  that.  They're  said  to  have  cast-iron 
ideas  of  what  Boston  owes  them  and  they  owe  Boston. 
And  then  "  —  she  dropped  her  air  of  rounded  finality  and 
smiled  at  him  —  "  then  I'll  tell  you  what  comes  next." 

He  was  unused  to  being  led.  He  wanted  to  follow,  at 
least  ostensibly,  his  own  road. 

"  I  suppose,"  he  suggested  ironically,  "  I'm  to  be  told 
what  I  am  to  pay." 

"  Precisely.  What  you  are  to  offer  and  what  you  are 
finally  to  pay.  You  are  to  open  an  account  in  another 
bank  —  not  your  present  one  —  and  money  will  be  trans 
ferred  there  from  New  York." 

"Directly?" 

"  No.  It  will  have  made  a  good  many  journeys  before 
it  gets  to  you.  But  you  needn't  be  afraid.  These  people 
here  aren't  going  to  investigate  anything  —  at  least  not 
till  it's  too  late." 

"  Here?     Boston?     They  won't  investigate?  " 

"  Boston  —  America.  Nothing  doing."  She  smiled, 
scornfully,  but  as  if  she  didn't  blame  anybody  for  criminal 
negligence.  She  had  gone  very  far  on  the  road  where 
every  man  is  for  himself.  But  he  had  a  question  to  ask 
her.  It  affected  his  standing  in  his  inner  mind.  Why  was 


86 

he  passed  over  to  her  to  be  instructed?  Had  he  got  to  be 
charmed  and  wheedled  by  a  woman?  Couldn't  they  talk 
to  him  man  to  man,  offer  their  bribes  and  let  him  answer 
in  cold  blood? 

"  Why,"  said  he,  "  does  all  this  come  through  you? 
Don't  they  trust  me  yet?  God  knows,  I've  done  enough 
for  'em." 

She  looked  at  him  a  moment  with  merry  eyes.  She 
didn't  have  to  consider  an  instant.  She  knew  the  answer 
and  why  he  asked  for  it. 

"  Dear  man,"  she  said,  "  you're  difficult." 

The  implication  pleased  him. 

"Why  am  I?"  His  self-importance,  tickled,  felt  mo 
mentarily  like  self-respect. 

"  You're  so  positive.  You  know  exactly  what  you  mean 
to  say  and  do.  If  you  turned  them  down  and  left  the 
whole  thing  in  the  air,  where  would  they  be  then?  I  saw 
that.  I  said  to  them, « I'll  do  it.'  " 

"Why  did  you?" 

He  knew  she  was  humoring  him,  definitely  and  with  a 
purpose  of  her  own,  but  he  liked  the  resultant  warmth 
between  them  and  he  couldn't  blame  her  for  having  played 
upon  him.  A  politician  himself,  should  he  not  accept 
expediency  in  another? 

"  Because,"  she  said,  "  I  knew  you." 

"  Oh,  come,"  he  threw  in  clumsily,  "  that's  no  reason." 

Where  was  the  wile  of  his  clever  tongue?  With  her 
the  knack  of  it  was  quite  lost  as  it  had  been  with  Helen 
for  the  last  year,  at  least.  Yet  there  was  a  difference. 
To  Helen  he  was  curt  and  even  savage  because  he  was 
aware  he  no  longer  pleased  and  his  vanity  was  sore.  This 
woman  he  tremulously  desired  to  please  too  much.  She 
left  her  chair  and  came  over  to  him  and  drew  another  to 


THE   BLACK   DROP  87 

his  knee.  Then  she  sat  facing  him  so  near  that  he  could 
feel  the  warmth  of  her  breath,  and  her  eyes,  the  trans 
parent  veined  beauty  of  them,  were  like  jewels  seen 
near  by. 

"  I  knew,"  she  said,  "  I  could  make  you  understand  this 
isn't  merely  buying  a  paper.  It's  a  step  to  where  we're 
going,  up  —  up  —  we  don't  want  to  say  how  high."  She 
laughed.  "  We  mustn't  get  dizzy.  And  they've  been  square 
with  you.  It  isn't  payment  for  what  you've  done  already. 
The  tip  I  gave  you  a  year  ago  —  well,  you  realized  some 
thing  out  of  that,  now  didn't  you?  " 

He  nodded  at  her.  He  couldn't  speak.  She  seemed  to 
be  drawing  him,  his  will,  his  hope  of  some  sort  of  angry 
bliss  with  her,  into  that  locked  seclusion  of  her  actual 
intent  he  never  yet  had  entered. 

"  We  are  going,"  she  said,  and  she  beat  out  the  words 
softly  with  one  small  hand  upon  his  that  lay  upon  his  knee, 
"  we  are,  you  and  I,  to  be  rich.  What  you  cleaned  up  a 
year  ago  is  nothing  —  nothing.  We're  to  be  powerful,  to 
be  famous.  And  I  said  I  was  the  one  to  tell  you  that 
because  I  speak  your  language." 

"  Do  you,"  he  asked  thickly,  forgetting  his  sharp  misery 
over  her  mental  inaccessibility.  "  By  God !  I  believe  you 
do." 

And  suddenly  she  had  left  him,  in  her  noiseless  way,  and 
was  standing  against  the  background  of  the  green  silk 
curtains.  For  an  instant  he  felt  light-headed  and  fancied 
Helen  was  there,  too.  He  never  quite  forgot  Helen. 
Either  she  was  there  as  a  torment  or  as  an  enemy  because 
she  had  walked  away  from  him.  And  Elsa  was  telling  him 
to  go.  She  was  tired,  she  said.  Standing  there,  grasping 
the  curtain  with  one  hand  like  an  actress  come  out  to  take 
applause  —  or  like  an  artless  child,  according  as  you  in- 


88  THE    BLACK   DROP 

terpreted  —  she  looked  appealing,  wan.  He  got  up  and 
went  to  her. 

"  No,"  she  said,  "  I'm  tired.  Don't  you  realize  — 
though  we  do  speak  the  same  language  —  oh,  yes,  we  do ! 
—  it's  no  small  thing  to  keep  up  with  a  man  like  you?  To 
try  to  make  you  do  things !  Yes,  I  did  try.  It's  absurd, 
a  small  person  like  me.  But  I  do  so  want  you  to  come 
into  this  newspaper  deal,  to  keep  on  being  one  of  us. 
I  can't " —  she  looked  away  from  him  now  as  if  she 
actually  must  not  trust  her  eyes  to  the  encounter,  "  I 
can't  go  on  without  you." 

There  was  silence  for  what  seemed  to  him  a  long  time. 
He  could  hear  her  little  ornate  clock  ticking  like  a  hurry 
ing  heart.  "  Come,"  the  little  clock  seemed  to  be  calling 
to  him,  "  hurry !  hurry !  Here's  the  prize  we're  running 
for,  and  if  you  don't  enter  for  it  somebody'll  be  before  you 
and  snatch  it  up." 

Then  he  did  speak. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  I'm  with  you.     Tell  'em  yes." 

And,  feeling  the  will  of  her  pushing  him  to  go,  he  got 
his  hat  and  coat  and  was  returning  to  her.  But  she  came 
into  the  hall,  and  though  pale,  she  looked  to  him  relieved. 
He  might  reasonably  have  built  greedy  hopes  on  his  own 
contributory  part  in  her  relief,  but  a  black  suspicion 
suddenly  settled  on  him,  out  of  nowhere,  and  he  asked  her : 

"  Is  anybody  coming  here  to-night  ?  " 

Her  brows  went  up  a  little  in  deprecation,  though  not. 
rebuke. 

"  No,"  she  said,  "  not  a  soul."  But  she  added  guile 
lessly,  "are  you  going  to  her?" 

"  Who  ?  "  he  asked,  frowning.  He  had  drawn  it  on  him 
self.  If  he  had  the  right  to  jealous  question,  hadn't 
she  the  same? 


THE    BLACK    DROP  89 

"  Your  wife,"  she  answered  quietly,  and  for  a  moment 
he  looked  at  her,  wondering  what  fiend  it  was  in  women 
that  kept  them  perversely  lashing  you  when  you  thought 
you  were  making  a  good  pace  on  plain  ground.  But  he 
had  to  answer. 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  I'm  not." 

He  opened  the  door  and  was  in  the  hall,  and  she  put 
out  a  hand  from  what  now  seemed  again  her  safe  seclusion. 

"  Then  —  "  she  said.  And  he  took  her  hand  and  kissed 
it.  Again  she  had  him.  But  he  went  and  paced  up  and 
down  for  over  an  hour,  watching  the  house,  and  before  she 
drew  her  curtain  she  saw  him  and  smiled  —  and  this  was 
not  the  smile  that  would  have  drawn  men  to  her  in  the 
piquing  thought  of  ancient  sorceries. 


IX 

EVERY  forenoon  Norris  worked  for  the  French  Wounded, 
and  every  afternoon,  with  what  freshness  he  had  left,  he 
wrote  on  his  new  novel.  If  he  didn't  keep  on  at  his  petty 
task  while  the  great  deeds  far  off  were  doing,  he  felt  he 
should  go  under.  Yet  who  wanted  his  novel  when  it  was 
done?  He  knew  precisely  the  recipe  to  suit  the  public. 
Could  he  write  an  adventure  story?  He  wished  he  could, 
but  it  was  beyond  him.  What  was  more  to  be  desired, 
in  these  times  of  clamor,  than  a  story  to  take  the  mind 
out  of  the  horrible  and  heroic  present  —  equally  com 
pounded,  this  day  of  dread  and  splendor  —  into  the  tracts, 
even  the  gins  and  pitfalls,  under  the  sun  of  gay  romance? 
But  he  actually  couldn't  do  it.  When  he  tried  to  vault 
into  the  saddle  of  robust  invention,  he  came  down  with  a 
bump.  His  evil  genius  of  the  inner  criticism,  that  goblin 
who  withholds  a  man  from  doing  his  best  because  it  laughs 
at  him  and  tells  him  the  world,  too,  will  laugh,  was  never 
absent  from  his  elbow.  And  if  the  world  couldn't  have 
its  adventure  story  Norris  knew  precisely  what  it  did 
want.  It  wanted  a  warming  sentiment,  a  tale  that  would 
take  it  out  of  this  disquieting  time  and  lull  it  with  some  of 
the  fallacies  that  clog  the  muscles  and  arrest  the  blood  and 
assert  God  is  going  to  do  something  ultimately,  even  if 
man  does  nothing.  It  wanted  to  be  snatched  out  of  the 
encampment  of  suspense,  of  anguish  where  he  and  men 
like  him  were  suffering  some  of  the  most  horrible  pangs 
of  the  war  because  they  could  do,  it  seemed,  nothing  ap 
preciable  for  it.  They  were  sweating  blood,  but  that  was 

90 


THE    BLACK   DROP  91 

nothing  compared  with  the  cataract  they  longed  to  pour 
into  the  sacrificial  torrent. 

It  had  not  done  him  much  good  to  come  up  here  and  live 
nearer  his  kind,  and  now  he  thought,  with  scorn  of  himself, 
that  he  didn't  want  it  to  abate  one  jot  of  his  suffering. 
It  was  the  only  decency,  while  his  brothers  were  being 
slaughtered  Over  There,  to  think  nothing  and  dream  of 
nothing  but  war.  Everything  less  was  defection  from 
them  whose  blood  was  availing,  as  his  could  not.  He  won 
dered  what  his  wife  thought  about  it  all.  She  said  little 
unless  she  was  interrogated;  she  did  her  daily  tasks  with 
a  precision  that  had  always  made  her  housekeeping  a  love 
liness  and  a  charm,  and  after  that  folded  compresses  and 
knit  with  a  swift  intentness.  She  sat  with  committees  and 
took  orders  faithfully.  Very  ready  she  was  to  talk  about 
her  house  affairs  or  a  walk  into  the  sunset,  or  even  about 
the  concert  —  for  Emily  had  a  nice  sense  of  values  and 
was  no  purveyor  of  small  things  —  but  of  the  tragedy  that 
was  welding  her  own  life  into  new  shapes  she  had  no  word 
to  say.  And  his  father  —  what  was  his  father  thinking 
about  the  war,  Norris  wondered,  sitting  there  in  his  en 
forced  seclusion,  whimsical,  profane,  according  as  his  af 
fliction  allowed  him  to  meet  the  world?  He  knew  how  his 
father  stood  as  to  the  great  issue ;  but  did  his  father  actu 
ally  suffer?  Or  had  he  got  into  that  zone  of  calm  where 
all  may  not  be  for  the  best  in  the  best  of  all  possible  worlds, 
but  is  for  the  best  in  a  universe  compounded  of  enormous 
distances  ?  He  didn't  know.  And  one  night  as  he  sat 
at  his  table  pretending  to  write  on  the  new  novel  and  mark 
ing  time,  whipping  up  impetus  by  letting  himself  go  in  a 
sea  of  platitude,  John  came  up  the  stairs.  He  knew  his 
irregular  step  far  below,  but  he  could  not  think  John  was 
coming  up  to  see  him  because  of  that  unformulated  rule 


92  THE    BLACK   DROP 

of  the  house  that  when  he  was  at  work  he  was  not  be  inter 
rupted.  John  came  on  and,  not  even  pausing  for  permis 
sion,  walked  in  at  the  open  door.  Norris  at  once  laid 
down  his  pen.  There  was  trouble  in  John's  face,  the  frown 
ing  consideration  of  a  worry  not  yet  fully  understood. 

"  Did  you  know,"  be  began,  and,  regardless  of  his 
father's  littered  desk  and  the  pen  still  wet  in  his  hand, 
threw  himself  into  a  chair  at  the  other  side  of  the  table, 
"  did  you  know  Charles  had  bought  the  Republican 
Voice?  " 

"  Charles  ?  "  repeated  his  father.  Now  he  carefully 
wiped  his  pen  and  laid  it  down  in  a  definitive  way  that  said 
"  I  sha'n't  need  you  again  to-night."  "  Bought  the  Voice? 
He  couldn't  have.  Where'd  he  get  his  money?  " 

"  Where  he  got  it  to  buy  this  house,  I  suppose,  if  it's 
no  worse,"  said  John,  as  if  it  were  an  accusation,  and  he 
was  passionately  throwing  it  at  his  father  who  happened  to 
be  there  to  receive  it  and  because  he  couldn't  get  at  Charles. 
"Where'd  he  get  that?" 

"  Why,  he  told  us,"  said  Norris.  "  He  told  me,  at  least. 
In  the  market." 

"  Yes.  He  had  a  tip.  Where'd  he  get  it?  "  demanded 
John  inexorably. 

"  Now  look  here,"  said  his  father  irritably,  "  you 
mustn't  get  Charles  on  your  nerves  and  conclude  he's  gone 
to  the  bad  because  he's  —  well,  not  exactly  your  kind." 
This  he  said  the  more  captiously  because  he,  too,  was  won 
dering  how  Charles  really  did  get  his  money,  and  banging 
himself  for  his  own  sad  doubts  of  him. 

"  Oh,  all  right,"  said  John.  "I've  nothing  to  say  — 
yet  —  about  the  way  he  made  his  money.  He's  bought  the 
Voice,  that's  all." 

"  How'd  you  know  it?  "  asked  Norris,  in  much  interest. 


THE    BLACK   DROP  93 

"  It's  out  to-day.  The  Voice'll  announce  it  to-morrow. 
And  it's  going  to  say  the  policy  of  the  paper  remains  un 
changed.  Now  what  do  you  think  of  that?  " 

"Well,  won't  it?" 

"  Under  Charles?  Why,  ask  yourself,  father.  Charles 
is  peace  at  any  price.  You  know  that.  And  you 
know  what  the  Voice  has  stood  for  ever  since  the  war 
begun." 

"  Well,"  said  Norris,  "  I  wish  Charles  would  come  in. 
I'd  like  to  hear  what  he's  got  to  say." 

"  He'll  say  enough,"  said  John.  "  He's  got  hold  of 
Brennan  already.  Finch,  too,  and  Bailey,  but  Brennan's 
the  big  loss.  His  cartoons  carry." 

"Got  hold  of  Brennan?" 

"  Yes.  Don't  you  remember  the  day  Charles  met  them 
here,  Brennan  and  Finch  and  Bailey,  and  he  asked  us  all 
to  dinner?  " 

"  Yes.     You  wouldn't  go." 

"  He  must  have  had  some  such  scheme  in  his  mind,  and 
now  he's  approached  Brennan  alone  and  asked  him  to  do 
cartoons  for  the  paper  and  hypnotised  him,  some  under 
ground  way,  and  Brennan's  agreed  to  do  it.  Asked  him 
to  bring  in  Finch  and  Bailey  and  he  did  that,  too." 

"  Brennan  needn't  stay  with  him  any  longer  than  he 
likes." 

"  Ah,  but  he's  signed  an  agreement.  So've  they  all. 
They're  to  give  the  Voice  all  their  work,  and  I  bet  you 
Charles  is  at  liberty  to  throw  out  what  he  pleases." 

"  He  won't  throw  it  out,"  said  Norris.  "  Brennan's  too 
valuable  to  go  into  the  discard.  And  if  he's  to  be  paid 
anything  considerable  — 

"  Oh,  he  gets  big  money,"  said  John,  looking  off  into  the 
distance  through  the  wall  opposite  —  he  had  these  ways  of 


94  THE    BLACK   DROP 

losing  himself  in  unseen  reaches  of  the  mind  —  "  Brennan 
never  earned  so  much  in  his  whole  life  as  Charles  is  going 
to  give  him  for  one  month.  I  don't  mean  that  was  what 
tempted  him.  And  I  shouldn't  say  tempted.  Charles 
simply  explained  the  policy  of  the  paper  and  Brennan  con 
cluded  it  was  all  right." 

"  Well,  and  isn't  it  all  right?  "  Norris  asked,  against  his 
own  convictions. 

"  You  know  Charles,  father.  So  do  I.  What  else  do 
we  know  ?  " 

"  But,"  said  Norris,  "  what  about  your  scheme,  that 
famous  scheme  you  had,  the  unknown  anonymous  backer, 
the  little  room  here  at  the  West  End  and  showers  of 
propaganda?  " 

"  That,"  said  John  bitterly?  "  is  another  thing  that  goes 
into  the  discard.  Unless  I  take  it  over  and  carry  it  my 
self." 

"  But  those  boys  were  as  keen  about  it  as  you  were." 

"  Oh,  yes,  but  Charles  got  them,  don't  you  see?  he  simply 
got  them.  He  rushed  them,  as  I  understand.  He  made 
them  believe  something  or  other  —  you  know  Charles  can 
make  you  believe  black  is  white  until  you've  proved  it  a  few 
times  and  found  it  isn't  —  and  they  signed  on." 

"  Now  what  did  he  really  make  them  believe?  " 

"  Larger  sphere  of  usefulness,  some  such  rot.  And 
made  them  feel  mighty  lucky  to  get  in  on  the  ground  floor. 
Told  them,  for  instance,  I  was  coming  in,  too." 

Norris  sat  for  a  moment  also  staring  through  the  wall 
into  invisible  distances. 

"  John,"  said  he  then,  "you  go  down  and  telephone 
Charles.  Ask  him  to  run  over.  Tell  him  I  want  to  see 
him." 

John  got  up  in  haste  as  if  he  thought  something  might 


THE   BLACK   DROP  95 

now  be  doing.  He  was  not  often  so  anxious  to  summon 
Charles. 

"  And  mind,"  his  father  called  after  him,  "you're  not 
to  get  into  any  trouble.  I  won't  have  you  boys  scrapping 
the  way  you  did  the  other  day." 

John  possibly  did  not  hear.  At  any  rate,  there  was  no 
answer,  and  his  father  thought,  with  a  rueful  amusement, 
how  tenuous  the  thread  of  paternal  influence  wears  with 
time.  He  sat  there  and  waited  for  Charles  to  appear  or 
for  John  to  come  back  and  tell  him  the  message  didn't  go 
through.  And  then  he  heard  the  front  door  and  his  two 
sons  in  a  brief  remark  as  they  came  up  the  stairs.  Charles 
appeared  first,  and  he  was  as  beautiful  a  spectacle  as  a 
personable  man  can  present  in  his  evening  clothes  and  with 
something  appropriately  anticipatory  in  his  manner,  as 
if  the  dress  had  been  donned,  not  in  the  ordinary  habit  of 
conventional  life,  but  for  an  eagerly  awaited  event.  See 
ing  his  face,  Norris  jumped  first  at  the  inference  that 
Helen  had  taken  him  back.  Then,  knowing  Helen  also,  he 
dismissed  that  and  reasoned  that  Charles  had  something 
of  his  own  advantage  in  view,  and  was  on  the  road  to  it. 
Charles  took  the  seat  John  had  vacated  and  John  found 
one  in  the  background  where,  his  father  thought,  he  could 
glower  unnoted.  Norris  began  at  once. 

"  Charles,  they  tell  me  you've  bought  the  Voice." 

Charles  was  unused  to  sharing  his  business  confidences 
with  the  family,  but  now  he  looked  at  his  father  expansively. 
There  was  no  limit,  his  smile  seemed  to  say,  to  what  he  was 
prepared  to  tell. 

"  And  I'm  editor  in  chief,"  he  announced.  "  I'm  awfully 
keen  on  it,  too." 

"  Have  you  discharged  Brice?  "  John  inquired  from  his 
corner.  "  Brice  is  the  present  editor,  father." 


96  THE    BLACK    DROP 

"  Oh,  Brice  wouldn't  fit  in,"  said  Charles.  "  We  want 
new  blood." 

"  Well,  you've  got  it  now  you've  got  Brennan,"  said 
John,  "  if  you  give  him  a  free  hand." 

"  Oh,  he'll  have  a  free  hand,"  said  Charles.  "  You'd  have 
a  free  hand,  too,  if  you'd  come  in." 

"  I  ?  "  said  John.  "  Not  on  your  life.  I  believe  in  all 
the  things  you  don't.  The  things  you're  standing  for  I 
hate  with  all  my  soul." 

"  Now  come,"  said  Charles,  giving  his  father  the  slight 
est  possible  smile  indicating  the  extent  to  which  they  both 
understood  the  intemperate  mind  of  youth,  "  what  do  you 
know  about  the  things  I  believe  in  ?  " 

"  I  know  better  what  you  don't  believe  in,"  said  John. 
"  You  don't  believe  in  preparing  for  war.  You'd  have  us 
sit  down  and  twiddle  our  thumbs  while  Germany  licks  us 
over  before  she  swallows  us.  You  believe  in  different 
brands  of  peace  —  I  don't  know  which  is  the  worse  —  peace 
at  any  price,  peace  twiddled  over  and  negotiated.  And  it 
isn't  because  you're  pro-German  or  pro-anything  but  pro- 
Charles." 

"  O  Lord !  "  breathed  Norris. 

He  wished  he  had  let  Charles  go  his  own  way.  Here 
they  were  again,  scrapping.  But  Charles  was  not  going  to 
scrap.  He  looked  unmoved,  except  that  he  smiled  toler 
antly  in  a  manner  of  again  reminding  his  father  to  con 
sider  the  intemperate  mind  of  youth,  the  while  it  mildly 
censured  John. 

"  Oh,  come,  John,"  he  said,  "  cut  it  out.  You're  too 
clever  to  believe  a  man  has  got  to  keep  on  being  what  he's 
been  once.  Circumstances  have  changed.  I  don't  believe 
in  conscription.  I  don't  want  to  fight.  War  is  —  " 

"  Don't  tell  me  war  is  hell,"  interrupted  John.     "  I  can't 


THE    BLACK   DROP  97 

bear  it  once  more.  You  pin  that  up  among  your  editorial 
'  don'ts  '.  Dad  and  I  are  pretty  parochial,  but  even  we've 
heard  it  several  times  already." 

Charles  went  on. 

"  I  begin  to  see  we've  got  to  be  prepared.  Possibly 
we  shall  have  to  fight.  Now  you  can't  ask  any  more  of  me 
than  to  acknowledge  I've  been  wrong.  And  I'm  going  to 
carry  on  the  Voice  precisely  on  its  old  lines.  Won't  that 
satisfy  you?  " 

"  It  would,"  said  John,  "  if  I  believed  it." 

"  Oh,  come,"  said  Charles,  with  an  unblemished  good 
nature,  "  you're  the  most  ill-conditioned  cub  I  ever  saw. 
Don't  you  call  it  discouraging,  father?  I  meet  him  the 
best  I  know  how,  and  he  tells  me  I  lie.  I  think  it  speaks 
well  for  me  not  to  give  him  a  biff." 

John  got  up,  and,  with  a  studied  offensiveness  of  silence, 
went  out  of  the  room.  Again  Charles  turned  to  his 
father. 

"  I'll  tell  you  what,"  he  said,  in  an  apparent  spontaneity 
his  father  informed  himself  he  had  to  accept  —  it  wasn't 
decent  not  to  — "  it  makes  me  sore  as  thunder  to  have  all 
of  you  down  on  me." 

Norris,  out  of  the  instinctive  working  of  family  decency, 
was  about  to  deny  half-heartedly  that  the  family  was 
down  on  him.  But  this  matter  of  the  paper  he  couldn't 
talk  out.  Charles  seemed  to  have  a  specious  side  of  his 
own ;  but  then  he  always  did  have.  Norris  countered  on 
another  issue  where  he  knew  his  ground  more  nearly. 

"  Have  you  seen  Helen  ?  " 

And  this  time  Charles  didn't  frown  and  glower  as  he 
had  that  first  night.  It  was  impossible  to  move  his  expan 
sive  calm. 

"  How  could  I  ?  "  he  asked.     "  She  won't  see  me.     How 


98  THE    BLACK    DROP 

can  I  square  things  with  her  if  she  won't  give  me  a 
chance?  " 

"  Going  anywhere  to-night?  "  asked  his  father. 

"  No." 

"  Then  why  not  telephone  her  and  ask  if  you  mayn't  go 
over  and  fetch  her  here  for  a  little  talk?  " 

This  Norris  said  against  his  preconceived  intent ;  but  he 
had  a  wobbly  consciousness  that  if  Charles  really  did  mean 
well  —  even  so  suddenly  and  after  every  reason  to  believe 
he  didn't  —  he  must  be  given  a  chance.  But  Charles 
wasn't  ready  to  close  on  such  an  offer. 

"  Not  to-night,"  he  said.     "  I'm  not  up  to  it." 

This  was  in  the  face  of  his  look  of  radiant  expectancy, 
and  his  father  immediately  knew  he  was  going  to  some 
desired  end. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  I  won't  keep  you." 

Charles  got  up,  and,  having  taken  a  step,  turned  back 
again. 

"  I  wish,"  he  said,  "  you'd  get  some  sense  into  John's 
head." 

"  What  kind  of  sense?  John  seems  to  me  moderately 
clever  —  in  his  work,  he  is." 

"  He's  infernally  clever.  They  all  are.  That's  why  I 
want  'em  on  the  Voice.  I'm  prepared  to  spend  any  amount 
on  'em." 

Norris  wasn't  going  into  that.  He  knew  John  would 
snatch  at  it  if  only  he  might  accept  his  brother's  good  faith. 
But  he  couldn't.  Nobody  could,  in  the  family,  where  they 
had  known  him  from  the  beginnings  of  his  desires  and  his 
tortuous  ways  of  coming  at  them.  So  Charles  went  away 
to  Mrs.  Davenport  where  she  already  sat  awaiting  him  with 
two  men  of  a  shaven  countenance  and  mean,  shrewd, 
mouths,  who  had  come  on  from  New  York  to  see  him.  And 


THE    BLACK   DROP  99 

that  evening  he  had  full  instructions,  which  came  to  him  in 
the  form  of  tactful  requisitions,  and  money  passed  between 
them. 

Norris  sat  for  a  long  time  thinking  about  him.  What 
if  he  could  write  out  the  soul  of  Charles  ?  Would  the  pub 
lic,  which  craved  the  warmth  and  light  and  foolish  ragtime 
of  a  childish  day,  respect  it  as  realism,  and  take  the  trouble 
to  probe  it  with  him?  He  thought  not.  Charles's  soul, 
difficult  as  it  would  be  to  paint,  in  all  its  glares  and  shad 
ows  —  sinister,  some  of  them  —  would  be  an  absorbing 
thing  to  tackle.  It  was  the  soul  of  the  politician,  and  Nor 
ris  had  begun  to  reflect  seriously  on  the  soul  of  the  politi 
cian,  as  on  the  soul  of  the  tyrant.  He  was  be 
ginning  to  understand  them  and  he  saw  that  the  pol 
itician,  in  the  secondary  and  debased  form  of  the  word,  is  a 
criminal  of  a  low  type.  He  is  a  man  who  has  ceased  asking 
himself,  "  Is  this  right  or  is  it  wrong?  "  He  is  a  man  who 
acts  because  he  has  weighed  the  end  in  view  and  what  con 
tributes  to  it  —  and  the  end  is  always  his  own  advance 
ment.  His  vision  is  oblique.  He  sees,  not  the  world  in  its 
sane  reality  as  it  looks  to  honest  eyes,  but  as  it  is  translated 
into  the  game.  And  this  was  Charles,  who  could  be  all 
things  to  all  men  because  all  men  were  the  instruments  of 
his  power.  No,  clearly  nobody  would  want  to  read  about 
the  petty  chicanery  of  Charles's  soul.  But  dwelling  on 
him  he  began  thinking  of  Helen,  also,  who  had  been  caught 
in  the  wizardry  of  his  son's  persuasion  and  had,  with  a 
silent  decisiveness  amazing  in  its  force  and  calmness, 
thrown  it  off.  Did  he  want  Charles  to  go  to  her,  to 
threaten  or  persuade?  Assuredly  not.  He  began  to  fear 
Charles  was  already  there,  besieging  her  door  with  soft 
assurances  that  would  harden  if  she  let  him  in,  and  he  went 
down  to  the  telephone  and  called  her  up. 


100  THE    BLACK   DROP 

"You  all  right?"  he  asked  her,  "Helen  of  the  topless 
towers?" 

"  All  right,"  came  her  voice.  "  Jessie  and  I  are  folding 
compresses." 

So  he  said  good-night.  When  he  was  going  back  to  his 
room  Emily  appeared  and  called  up  the  stairs  to  him: 

"  He  won't  go  there.     I'm  sure  he  won't. 

Norris  went  on  to  his  room,  smiling.  He  was  never 
iritated  by  Emily's  uncanny  habit  of  reading  his  mind, 
chiefly  because  she  usually  read  in  silence  and  seemed  to 
draw  no  conclusions.  But  did  she  draw  conclusions  and 
softly  act  upon  them?  Grandsir,  smiling  in  a  reticence 
of  his  own,  thought  she  did. 


X 

ONE  of  the  compensating  details  in  this  apartment  Jessie 
had  taken  was  that  it  had  fireplaces  of  an  ancient  build. 
Before  the  fire  in  the  sitting-room,  a  table  between  them, 
sat  the  two  sisters,  working  absorbedly  and  saying  little. 
Jessie  was  in  blue  and  Helen  in  white  —  soft  house  dresses 
that  clothed  their  fresh  beauties  fittingly,  and  gave  the 
mind  to  think  on  delicate  morning  lovelinesses,  the  convol 
vulus  or  the  rose.  They  were  moderately  content  to 
night,  in  the  surroundings  they  had  made  for  themselves, 
because,  for  some  reason,  they  were  not  at  the  extreme 
tension  they  felt  ordinarily  in  these  strange  times.  It 
was  of  no  use  for  Helen  to  say  she  was  not  afraid  of 
her  husband.  She  was  apprehensive,  —  that  he  would 
come,  that  there  would  be  the  violence  of  reproach  and 
persuasion,  and  that,  having  once  entered  these  rooms, 
he  could  never  be  made  to  go  without  some  huge  outcry 
and  misery.  For  Jessie,  too,  he  was  always  imminent. 
When  Helen  came  back  from  the  telephone  where  she 
had  answered  Norris,  she  was  smiling  in  a  moved,  tender 
way. 

"  Dear  things,  all  of  them,"  she  said.  "  Aren't  they 
good  to  me  ?  If  they  weren't  —  " 

"Have  you  talked  to  them?  "  Jessie  ventured. 

She  hadn't  been  talked  to  herself.  It  was  getting  hard 
to  wait,  to  realize  Charles  might  be  upon  them  at  any  mo 
ment  and  she  would  have  to  fight  him  off  unintelligently, 

101 


102  THE    BLACK   DROP 

knowing  he  had  lost  Helen  and  yet  not  how  he  had  lost  her. 
Jessie  was  impatient  of  veils.  She  repudiated  the  assump 
tion  that,  because  she  was  younger  than  Helen  and  un 
married,  she  was  to  be  shielded  from  the  knowledge  of  evil. 
Women  were  in  the  thick  of  it  now,  young  women.  You 
couldn't  save  them  altogether  from  the  blows  and  abra 
sions  of  life.  Why  try  to  deny  them  knowledge  of  the 
terrible  game? 

"  I  talked  a  little  —  to  grandsir,"  said  Helen.  She  was 
folding  absorbedly.  "  The  time  I  went  alone." 

Then  they  folded  in  silence,  and  Jessie,  not  asking, 
wished  Helen  would  talk  to  her.  Yet  it  was  a  magnificent 
point  of  honor  not  to  ask.  She  wanted  especially  to  show 
her  sister  how  loyal  she  was  to  her,  beyond  reason,  with 
no  argument  from  fact.  And  Helen  had  seen  the  moment 
nearing  when  she  must,  in  common  fairness,  give  Jessie  the 
key  to  some  of  the  perplexities  they  would  have  to  meet  to 
gether.  Because  Jessie,  having  come,  was  not  going  away 
again.  She  had  sacrificed  tremendously  in  coming.  She 
had  rushed  to  her  work  in  France  over  towering  difficulties, 
trodden  them  down,  cast  them  behind  her  in  a  rage  of  de 
termination,  and  then,  having  heard  the  call  of  Helen's 
need,  she  had  turned  her  back  on  France.  It  was  a  big 
thing,  her  sacrifice,  and  a  silent  one. 

"  I  suppose,"  said  Helen,  "  you  think  it's  time  I  said 
something." 

"  Not  unless  you  want  to,"  Jessie  answered  readily. 
"  It's  only  the  question  wh ether  I  should  be  of  more  use  to 
you- 

Helen  leaned  back  in  her  chair,  arms  stretched  out 
straight  and  her  delicate,  eloquent  hands,  fitted  to  an  ac 
curacy  of  motion,  on  the  work  table.  Suddenly  she  looked 
pathetically  tired,  her  face  paler  and  blue  shadows  under 


THE    BLACK   DROP  103 

her  eyes.  Jessie  glanced  up  at  her  and  was  smitten  with 
the  wholesale  self-reproach  of  love. 

"  Don't  do  it,  Nell,"  she  said.  "  I  don't  care  about  be 
ing  told.  Go  and  lie  down  and  I'll  read  to  you." 

"  I  don't  want  to  lie  down,"  said  Helen,  "  and  I  don't 
want  to  be  read  to.  I'd  like  to  tell  you  things,  but  I  can't. 
I'm  trying  to  behave  myself,  but  sometimes  I'm  afraid  I 
sha'n't  keep  it  up.  I  want  to  be  exactly  as  you've  all 
known  me ;  but  there  are  minutes  when  I'm  so  wild  —  that's 
the  only  word  I  can  think  of  —  wild  inside  me  somehow, 
that  I'm  afraid  I  shall  break  out  and  do  queer  things. 
You  know,  those  things  they  do  on  the  stage  aren't  so 
queer,  after  all:  breaking  down  uncontrollably,  the  things 
we  watch  from  the  audience  and  tell  whether  we  think 
they're  done  well  or  not,  and  look  to  see  what  the  critics 
say  next  morning.  But  those  things  are  life,  and  they're 
just  as  normal  as  eating  your  dinner,  if  you  allow  your 
self  to  get  to  a  certain  point.  And  I'm  afraid  I'm  getting 
there." 

She  spoke  with  emphasis,  yet  it  was  perfectly  controlled, 
and  Jessie,  who  was  frightened  to  the  last  inner  fibre  for 
her,  was  alarmed  the  more  by  that.  But  she  did  not  in 
terrogate  her  even  by  a  glance.  She  went  on  folding,  with 
painstaking  care,  though  she  was  seeing  her  work  dimly 
and  could  not  be  sure  her  fingers  might  not  tremble  pres 
ently. 

"  I  don't  believe,"  she  said  quietly,  "  it's  a  good  thing 
to  keep  such  a  terrible  hold  on  ourselves.  Maybe  it's 
better  to  let  yourself  go.  Talk  it  out.  If  you  can't  with 
me,  why  not  grandsir  or  Mrs.  Tracy?  " 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Helen  quickly.  "  Not  that.  At  least, 
not  yet.  I  couldn't." 

"You're  too  loyal,  Nell." 


104  THE    BLACK   DROP 

"  I'm  not  loyal,"  said  Helen  violently.  "  You  can't 
imagine  how  different  I  am  from  what  I  thought  I  was. 
I'm  entirely  different  from  what  you  think." 

Jessie  went  on  folding. 

"  I  wish,"  she  said  at  length,  "  we  could  use  our  com 
mon  sense.  Somebody  said,  you  know,  if  we  all  used  com 
mon  sense  there'd  be  no  tragedies." 

"  There  are  tragedies,"  said  Helen.  "  You  can't  keep 
them  off  by  wearing  a  veil  and  saying  you  won't  look  at 
them." 

But  now  she  seemed  to  get  back  her  composure.  The 
runaway  horse,  Jessie  saw,  was  coming  under  the  curb. 
Helen  even  laughed  a  little. 

"  I'm  on  edge,"  she  said,  and  she  began  her  folding. 
"  I've  got  to  keep  busier,  that's  all." 

"  You've  got  to  go  back  to  France  with  me,"  said  Jessie 
quietly.  "  There  we  shouldn't  have  time  to  think." 

Helen  said  nothing,  and  Jessie's  mind  inevitably  leaped 
to  other  daring  moments  when  she  had  urged  her  to  sit 
down  and  definitely  plan  for  France.  And  always  Helen 
had  put  her  off,  and  once  told  her  explicitly  and  violently 
that  it  was  impossible  until  she  had  settled  things  here. 
What  things?  Jessie  asked  her,  and  again  she  was  dumb. 
An  exasperating  creature,  but  dear  beyond  belief. 

That  night  Jessie,  on  the  alert  for  the  smallest  sound  to 
tell  her  Helen  was  also  awake  and  quivering  under  the  lash 
that  flicked  her,  thought  back  to  the  Helen  of  other  years, 
a  creature  of  such  sweet  household  ways  that  you  wanted 
to  enthrone  her  at  your  hearth,  and  such  little  tricks  of 
genius  that  you  wondered  whether  she  might  not  have  done 
one  or  another  thing  in  the  arts  supremely  well.  She  had 
an  easy  cleverness  with  the  pen  and  brush,  she  caught  at 
languages  in  a  careless  mastery,  speaking  them,  not  so 


THE   BLACK   DROP  105 

much  with  an  impeccable  correctness  as  a  fluidity  and 
spirit  that  delighted  the  native  born.  And  all  this  wealth 
of  sheer  intellectual  and  intuitive  ease  had  been  poured  in 
to  the  cup  she  lifted  daily  for  Charles  to  drink.  He  had 
somehow  —  or  was  it  her  love  for  him?  —  quenched  these 
tricksy  activities,  the  gay  adaptabilities  that  made  her  such 
a  comrade,  such  a  playfellow.  Had  he  indeed  quenched 
them,  or  did  she,  out  of  generous  thrift,  keep  her  fine  vin 
tage  sealed  from  the  world  outside  the  marital  tent  and 
only  broach  it  when  my  lord  would  be  amused  and  called 
upon  his  handmaid?  Jessie  thought  not,  as  to  this  last. 
Charles,  she  thought,  with  all  his  subtleties  of  intelligence 
in  the  game  of  moving  men,  was  a  stupid  person.  No, 
Helen  had  been  extinguished  like  a  candle  by  the  cap  of 
his  dull  wits.  And  now  what  was  she?  Outwardly  the 
same  in  looks,  a  little  older  but  not  much,  smiling  with  a 
less  fitful  radiance  but  no  less  sweetly,  and  yet  changed. 
Something  had  come  upon  her,  apprehension,  the  shadow 
of  an  inward  brooding.  Jessie  was  troubled.  Her  own 
task  of  standing  by  Helen  loomed  very  large. 


XI 

IF  Jessie  could  have  been  more  tender  of  Helen,  more 
secretly  watchful  over  her  comfort,  this  hesitating  half 
confidence  would  have  made  her  so.  And  though  it  was  no 
real  disclosure,  she  was  grateful  for  it  and  traced  over 
and  over  in  memory  the  blurred  edges  of  it.  Its  impli 
cations  might  have  fitted  one  of  half  a  dozen  guesses.  At 
least,  Helen  had  shut  herself  up  in  this  retreat  her  neces 
sities  had  chosen,  to  think  out  her  riddle,  the  big  riddle, 
whatever  it  was,  that  had  made  her  throw  over  the  house 
hold  gods  and  fly  from  the  ruin  of  them.  Were  the  gods 
really  broken  in  their  overturn,  or  might  they  sometime 
be  lifted  by  tender,  perhaps  remorseful  hands,  and  set  up 
again?  Jessie  forbade  herself  to  wish.  Nevertheless,  at 
instants  of  savage  condemnation  of  Charles  who,  in  what 
ever  fashion,  had  surely  brought  about  the  overturn,  she 
still  longed  for  the  moment  when  Helen  should  make  her 
decision,  swift,  irrevocable,  and  they  two  could  run  away 
from  it  all,  to  France.  Jessie  was  every  day  more  madly 
anxious  to  get  back.  In  the  hidden  house  of  her  mind 
where  Helen  was  never  allowed  to  come  now,  lest  the  un 
easiness  there  disquiet  her,  she  was  always  weaving  plans 
for  their  escape,  her  hands  ready  at  the  wires  to  pull. 
But  meantime  there  must  be  the  stillest  tranquillity  in  this 
present  refuge,  Helen's  purpose  must  crystallize  without 
a  jar.  Sometimes  when  Jessie  sat  with  her  at  their  deft 
folding  and  counting,  she  had  quick,  wild  impulses  to  sweep 
the  board  of  this  orderly  service  and  break  out  with  the 

106 


THE   BLACK   DROP  107 

things  she  had  seen,  things  that  were  going  on  now  with  a 
horribly  increased  momentum  because  the  ocean  of  blood 
had  risen  higher  and  the  rocks  of  defense  were  more  and 
more  submerged,  to  beg  Helen  to  throw  her  own  personal 
grief,  whatever  it  was,  into  the  abyss  of  unconsidered 
things  and  come  with  her  to  help.  But  she  would  look  at 
her  then,  the  pale  remoteness  of  her,  the  something  inac 
cessible  in  her  isolation,  and  decide  again  that  it  really  was 
a  guarded  shrine.  Perhaps  Helen  had  no  right  to  keep 
one  woman,  or  two  women,  indeed,  out  of  France ;  but  when 
your  eyes  met  hers,  you  felt  she  had,  from  some  inner  task, 
she  was  brooding  on,  an  unassailable  claim  to  her  im 
munity. 

One  morning  Jessie  left  her  at  the  table  and  went  off  out 
of  doors  —  to  do  errands,  she  said.  But  it  was  really  be 
cause  energies  were  seething  in  her  that  could  not  be  put 
into  gauze,  however  fervently  folded.  Her  feet  had  to  be 
carrying  her  somewhere  and  tire  themselves  into  patience, 
since  they  couldn't  be  allowed  to  bear  her  off  to  France. 
Helen,  left  alone,  went  on  with  her  work  at  the  table.  She 
knew  precisely  how  Jessie  felt,  and  her  own  feet  were  beg 
ging  for  at  least  a  trot  across  the  Common,  since  she 
couldn't  let  them  go  to  France,  couldn't  let  them  run  up 
the  street  to  that  house  which  had  once  been  her  home. 
Was  it  her  home  still?  Should  she  have  fulfilled  the  old 
wifely  ideal  and  stood  by,  or  had  she  a  right  to  this  inter 
val  of  isolation  to  think  out  the  question  that  would  have 
been  decided  by  a  woman  of  more  impetuous  judgment  in 
the  moment  when  the  gods  crashed  down?  Helen  often 
thought  how  it  would  have  been  decided  in  a  play,  the 
threads  of  uncertainty  tied  up  in  a  third  act  and  gently 
extricated  and  woven  into  the  web  of  destiny  in  the  fourth. 
In  the  play  it  could  all  have  been  determined  in  a  cry  —  a 


108  THE    BLACK   DROP 

"  line  "  —  the  one  the  actress  would  have  relied  on  for  her 
big  effect.  Impossible  to  get  any  help  from  Jessie,  any  more 
than  from  the  family,  because  Jessie  was  so  obstinately  set 
against  Charles.  Her  impetuous  mind  was  probably  now 
racing  after  him,  accusing  him,  spinning  webs  of  conjec 
ture,  fitting  piece  to  piece  in  the  puzzle  she  thought  she 
held,  since  their  talk,  actually  in  her  hands.  She  would 
be  more  than  ready  to  run  him  down  and  throttle  him  with 
impulsive  retribution,  and  Helen  would  neither  counte 
nance  the  vengeful  pursuit  nor  could  she  forbid  it  as  once 
she  would  have  done  when  she  was  so  identified  with  him 
that  defence  was  a  vital  duty  as  natural  as  the  body's 
rallying  to  its  own  preservation.  The  effort  of  sifting 
what  she  could  tell  from  what  was  to  be  withheld  had  ex 
hausted  her.  She  hardly  knew  where  she  stood,  neither 
wholly  false  nor  "  falsely  true." 

To  her,  this  morning  after  Jessie  had  gone  out,  came 
the  maid,  announcing: 

"  Mrs.  Davenport." 

The  surprise  of  the  name  was  complete,  the  shock  so 
sharp  that  she  stopped  folding  and  looked  up  in  a  helpless 
query.  An  undercurrent  of  feeling  told  her  she  had 
brought  this  on  herself  by  even  accepting  the  woman's 
name  from  grandsir.  They  had  conjured  her  up.  So 
unconsciously  had  she  identified  her  with  Charles  that  she 
had  a  foolish  apprehension  the  woman  had  come  to  tell  her 
something  had  happened  to  him.  The  name  held 
such  unknown  import  that  it  was  itself  a  challenge,  and 
after  her  moment  of  staring,  while  the  maid,  in  a  simple 
wonder,  stared  back  at  her,  she  said  quietly : 

"  Ask  her  to  come  in." 

Immediately,  it  seemed,  Mrs.  Davenport  was  there,  al 
most  before  Helen  could  rise  to  meet  her.  And  as  Helen 


THE   BLACK   DROP  109 

saw  her  now  for  the  first  time,  she  was  not  the  exotic  crea 
ture  a  wronged  wife  might  have  predicted,  but  an  exquis 
itely  complete  figure  in  a  dress  suited  to  the  morning,  her 
face  dwelling  demurely  behind  the  propriety  of  a  veil  per 
fectly  put  on,  and  the  expression  of  it  grave,  open  and 
slightly  interrogatory. 

"  It's  so  good  of  you  to  see  me,"  she  said,  in  a  direct 
manner  and,  though  it  was  not  ingratiating,  almost,  Helen 
thought,  with  a  grim  humor,  as  if  she  had  something  to  sell. 
But  Helen  had  no  answer  to  this,  certainly  no  disclaimer, 
only  a  courteous  indication  of  the  chair  she  had  just  left, 
turning  it  about  from  the  work-table.  Elsa  seated  her 
self  and  Helen  took  the  chair  opposite  and  sat,  with 
hands  in  her  lap,  in  an  attitude  of  that  unconscious,  even 
sumptuous,  grace  and  elegance  the  woman  of  a  good  height 
and  a  loose  slenderness  adopts  without  effort.  Elsa,  see 
ing  her  for  the  first  time  at  close  hand,  had  a  slightly 
bitter,  yet  humorous,  recognition  of  Helen's  equipment. 
Although  she  had  long  ceased  to  cry  for  the  moon  of  un 
attainable  graces,  she  remarked  inwardly  that  the  woman 
with  a  length  of  limb  always  has  the  best  of  it.  Then  she 
addressed  herself  to  her  errand,  speaking  concisely,  so 
berly  and  with  a  restraint  which  was  in  itself  beguiling. 

"  I've  come  to  tell  you  something.  But  it  must  not  be 
repeated." 

Helen  sat  still,  looking  at  her.  She  couldn't  promise 
that.  She  couldn't  promise  anything  to  a  woman  who 
had  so  little  right  to  ask  it.  And  the  next  thing  Mrs. 
Davenport  said  was  inconceivable  in  its  directness  : 

"  You  are  not  living  with  your  husband." 

It  was  a  statement,  not  a  question,  and  Helen  sat  and 
looked  at  her.  It  seemed  to  her  of  the  highest  importance 
that  she  should  say  nothing,  that  she  should  not  offer, 


110  THE   BLACK   DROP 

by  the  quiver  of  an  eyelash,  a  response  to  a  statement 
so  preposterously  personal.  But  to  Elsa  it  was  appar 
ently  a  matter  of  no  importance  that  she  had  not  been 
answered.  She  continued,  with  a  direct  and  grave  com 
posure,  an  implication  of  having  every  reason  to  speak 
and  therefore  the  right  to  do  it. 

"  The  thing  I'm  going  to  tell  you  is  about  myself.  And 
you  mustn't  repeat  it,  even  to  your  sister.  If  I  told  you 
what  none  of  my  friends  know  yet  —  She  paused,  and 

her  yellow-brown  eyes  fixed  themselves  on  Helen's  with  an 
imperiousness  that  said :  "  A.ttend  to  me.  Attend.  It  is 
of  the  gravest  consequence  that  you  should  listen,  for  you 
as  well  as  for  me." 

And  Helen  felt,  with  a  sickness  of  strained  inner  emotion, 
that  she  had  got  to  attend.  Something  demanded  it. 
Was  it  real,  an  actual  necessity,  or  was  it  the  woman's  in 
sistence  and  her  gold-brown  eyes? 

"  If  I  told  you,"  said  Elsa,  "  that  I  am  working  for  the 
Department  of  Justice,  would  you  talk  with  me  then?  " 

"  Department  of  Justice?  " 

"Secret  service,  if  you  like.     Then  would  you  talk?" 

"  I  am  listening,"  said  Helen. 

Her  heart  was  choking  her.  Strange  possibilities  swam 
into  sight,  things  that  belonged  on  another  plane  from  this 
where  she  and  the  woman  confronted  each  other.  She  felt 
something  new  and  menacing  in  the  air,  something  that 
threatened  her.  What  did  the  woman  know  about  her  or, 
having  the  confidence  of  Charles,  what  did  she  guess? 
Elsa  smiled  at  her,  in  a  frank  amusement. 

"You  listen,"  she  said,  "but  you  don't  mean  to  speak. 
You're  not  going  to  tell  me  anything.  But  I'm  being 
square  with  you.  I'm  not  trying  to  lead  you  on,  like  the 
detectives  in  the  books.  I'm  introducing  myself  and 


THE   BLACK   DROP  111 

trusting  you  not  to  give  me  away.  And  now  I'm  going  to 
ask  you  a  plain  question.  Why  did  you  leave  your  hus 
band?  " 

Helen  might,  if  she  could  have  anticipated  this  inter 
view,  have  seen  herself  repelling  the  question  with  haughti 
ness,  possibly  with  some  of  the  words  vivid  in  accepted 
formulas.  Unwarrantable  !  insolent !  these  were  two  of  the 
words.  But  she  was  not  inclined  to  use  them  or  their  like. 
She  sat  stiller,  if  that  could  be,  and  looked  at  her  visitor 
in  a  grave  consideration.  She  had  no  idea  she  should  an 
swer.  But  as  the  seconds  beat  on  into  minutes  she  found 
that,  for  some  reason,  she  had  to.  Perhaps  it  seemed  that 
Mrs.  Davenport  also  was  going  to  sit  there  immovable,  the 
gold-brown  eyes  fixed  on  hers,  to  an  interminable  limit  of 
nervous  tension,  until  they  were  interrupted,  it  might  be 
possibly  until  Jessie  came  home. 

"  I  can't  tell  you  that,"  she  heard  herself  answering. 

And  Mrs.  Davenport,  with  her  impregnable  air  of  con 
tinuing  a  conversation  not  in  the  least  eccentric,  went  on: 

"  Tell  me  then :  did  you  leave  him  for  any  reason  con 
nected  with  his  public  activities?  Did  you  —  suspect 
him?  " 

This  was  what  the  woman  meant  then.  She  mistrusted 
Charles  and  had  come  to  Charles's  wife  to  discover  what 
she  also  knew.  It  was  incredible ;  but  Helen  could  not  feel 
it  was  impossible,  for  the  strangest  things  had  taken  on  the 
garb  of  probability  since  she  had  been  separated  from 
Charles.  And  something  had  to  be  said.  She  rose  from 
her  chair,  and  stood  waiting,  while  Elsa  thought  how 
beautiful  she  was,  and  how  irresistible  a  woman  of  that 
noble  type  could  be  if  she  would  learn  all  the  rules  of  all 
the  games.  But  she  only  smiled  at  Helen,  a  little  humor 
ous,  quizzical  smile. 


THE   BLACK  DROP 

"  I  know,"  she  said.  "  That  means  I'm  dismissed.  I 
don't  want  to  be.  Give  me  a  minute  more.  Tell  me,  do 
you  know  anything  about  your  Charles  the  government 
needs  to  use?  If  you're  a  patriotic  lady,  you'll  speak 
up." 

But  Helen  stood  still  and  said  nothing.  Her  hand, 
her  left  hand,  on  the  back  of  the  chair,  did  not  tremble,  and 
Elsa,  looking  for  that  sign  of  disquietude,  noted  that  it 
still  wore  its  wedding  ring.  At  least,  whatever  the  impli 
cation,  she  had  retained  that  token  of  allegiance.  Elsa 
rose  now,  outwardly  rueful  but  still  good-humored  to  the 
last  degree. 

"  I'm  sorry,"  she  said.  "  It's  really  necessary  for  me  to 
know  something  about  him.  It'll  save  him  trouble,  too. 
You  see  you've  kicked  up  an  awful  row.  It's  known  you've 
left  him.  The  next  question  is  —  why?  He's  said  to  be 
faithful  to  you.  Therefore,  again,  why?  If  there's  no 
woman  in  the  case,  there  must  be  something.  And  the 
question  is  then,  is  he  crooked?  Does  his  wife  know  it? 
Is  that  why  she  cut?  And  then  I'm  put  on  to  shadow  him, 
as  they  say,  and  I  have  to  see  a  great  deal  more  of  him 
than  I  want  to  —  or  than  he  may  want  me  to  —  and  that 
kicks  up  another  scandal.  *  Mrs.  Davenport,  the  news 
paper  woman,  running  round  with  Charles  Tracy.  So 
that's  why  his  wife's  left  him !  My  dear !  how  hard  for  the 
family.' " 

Helen  made  a  little  movement  of  the  hand,  as  if  to  beg 
her  not  to  bring  in  the  dear  family.  And  Elsa  understood 
it  so. 

"  Oh,"  she  said,  "  we  can't  let  up  on  the  family. 
They've  got  to  be  hauled  out  of  their  precious  old  seclusion 
to  answer  questions  about  him.  I  hear  they've  come  and 
brought  their  dear,  nice  country  ways  with  them.  Can't 


THE   BLACK   DROP  113 

you  save  them?  Why  won't  you  tell  me  what  you 
know?" 

Helen  felt  she  could  answer  with  a  decent  composure 
now. 

"  I  haven't  anything,"  she  said,  "  to  tell  you." 

She  heard  her  voice  coming  from  far  away  in  that  com 
monplace  which  was,  she  knew,  the  only  response  this  meas- 
sure  of  impudence  deserved.  But  curiously,  though  she 
knew  it  was  impudence,  she  was  not  indignant.  There  was 
something  about  the  self-possessed  little  figure  before  her 
which  challenged  honesty.  It  was  so  good-humored,  so 
admiring,  so  frankly  bent  on  business.  How  could  she  op 
pose  it  with  the  heroics  it  might  meet  with  smiling? 

"  Another  thing,"  said  Elsa.  "  You're  forcing  me,  you 
know.  You'll  rush  me  into  your  husband's  company.  I 
shall  have  to  see  him  as  often  as  he'll  let  me,  and  I  shall  have 
to  charm  him  all  he'll  let  me.  You  don't  believe  I  can; 
but  I  can.  I've  got  the  old  bag  of  tricks,  and  though  he 
sees  they're  tricks,  he  can't  resist  them.  Some  men  can't. 
They'd  rather  have  things  made  after  a  pattern  than  what 
you've  got  yourself  —  that  kind  of  a  heavenly  mystic 
charm.  They  adore  it,  but  it  scares  them,  too." 

Helen  did  not  for  an  instant  suspect  her  of  throwing  out 
a  bait  for  confidence  of  any  sort.  She  only  felt  pro 
foundly  lost  because  they  seemed  to  be  standing  with  an 
abyss  between  them,  calling  across  it,  the  abyss  of  the  sad 
ness  of  the  world. 

"  It's  a  pity,"  Elsa  was  saying. 

"What's  a  pity?"  Helen  asked,  out  of  her  dream  of 
the  world's  age  of  misery. 

"  It's  a  pity  it  isn't  plain  sailing,  so  you  and  I  could 
know  each  other  and  you'd  be  nice  to  me.  I  like  you  a 
great  deal  better  than  I  ever  could  him.  He's  charming, 


114  THE   BLACK   DROP 

when  he  wants  to  be,  but  he's  no  sense  of  humor.  You 
found  that  out,  too.  And  you're  packed  and  crammed 
with  humor,  in  spite  of  your  shyness.  So  is  your  sister." 

Helen  must  have  looked  a  question,  for  Elsa  continued : 

"  Yes,  I've  seen  her.  I've  seen  you  both  a  lot.  I  sat 
beside  you  once  in  a  car  and  heard  all  your  talk.  It  wasn't 
about  anything  in  particular.  You  felt  cheerful  and  you  had 
the  sillies.  I  admired  you  tremendously  that  you  could, 
after  you'd  left  your  Charles.  I  knew  exactly  the  sort 
you  were.  Now  I'm  going.  Do  let  me  come  again." 

This  last  she  said  with  an  air  of  sudden  bright  impul 
siveness  irresistible  in  its  charm.  And  Helen,  to  her  own 
amazed  incredulity?  would  have  liked  her  to  come  again. 
Still  she  did  not  answer.  She  felt  some  hand,  propriety's 
gloved  hand  it  must  have  been,  holding  her  back.  And  she 
fancied,  with  some  impatience  at  herself,  that  if  she  were 
clever,  if  she  had  any  initiative,  any  imagination,  she  would 
not  have  needed  the  cold  hand  to  admonish  her.  She  would 
have  known  some  quick,  warm  act,  to  govern  the  situation 
and  turn  it  to  human  use.  Elsa  was  at  the  door  now,  and 
still  smiling  back  at  her. 

"  I'm  not  in  the  least  the  sort  of  person  you  think,"  she 
said.  "  I'm  a  fraud,  of  course,  but  it's  only  because  I'm  a 
business  woman  and  business  calls  for  fraud.  I  don't  par 
ticularly  enjoy  it.  What  I'd  like  best  would  be  to  live  in 
the  country  and  keep  bees.  And  I  don't  love  your  Charles 
—  yet.  He's  got  a  nasty  temper.  But  if  you  drive  me 
to  it  I  shall  have  to  make  him  love  me  —  in  his  way  —  and 
I  can  return  it  somehow."  She  had  opened  the  door.  She 
was  outside.  And  she  turned  with  another  of  those  pi 
quant  smiles.  "  I'll  show  you  the  kind  of  fraud  I  am.  I'm 
not  married,  and  my  name  isn't  Davenport  and  it  isn't 
Elsa.  It's  really  Henrietta.  Good-by.  I  wish  you'd  let 


THE    BLACK    DROP  115 

me  come  again.  That  nice  sister  of  yours  would  let  me, 
just  to  be  a  sport.  Well,  no  matter.  It's  no  use,  I  sup 
pose." 

Now  she  was  really  gone.  Helen  heard  the  click  of  her 
smart  shoes  on  the  stairs,  and  she  hesitated  before  shutting 
the  door  upon  her.  Why?  she  could  not  possibly  under 
stand.  Was  the  woman  so  charming?  And  yet  Helen 
was  not  easily  charmed.  And  when  she  had  shut  the  door 
she  went  quickly  back  into  the  sitting-room  and  looked 
out  of  the  window  in  time  to  see  Elsa  walking  down  the 
street,  a  man  beside  her.  And  the  man  was  Charles.  So 
that  was  it,  she  thought,  with  an  instant  revulsion  to  bitter 
ness  and  the  welling  sense  of  outrage.  He  had  sent  the 
woman,  with  the  intent  of  spying  and  he  had  been  waiting 
for  her  below.  She  went  back  to  her  work,  wounded  in  the  in 
nermost  heart  of  her.  Like  all  wronged  women  she  felt,  not 
merely  the  simple  passion  of  primal  jealousy,  the  revul 
sion  to  outrage  because  she  believed  her  own  had  been  taken 
from  her,  but  affronted  pride  in  that  her  home  had  been 
invaded.  She  worked  very  hard,  that  day,  at  her  folding. 
Her  hands  trembled  and  several  times  she  stopped  and 
wrung  them  together  to  get  the  blood  into  them  and  give 
the  muscles  an  impatient  wrench. 

But  Elsa  had  not  expected  to  find  Charles.  Indeed  her 
heart  gave  a  little  admonitory  tap,  and  beat  out  its  warn 
ing,  "  Now  you've  got  to  explain."  And  he  didn't  delay 
his  demand  for  elucidation.  There  was  no  surprised  inter 
est  at  the  sight  of  her.  He  was  too  concerned  to  see  her 
coming  out  of  Helen's  door. 

"  What  were  you  there  for?  "  he  asked,  at  once.  "  You 
don't  know  anybody  there." 

Elsa  drew  her  veil  down  a  little  more  smoothly  over  her 
chin,  smiling  up  at  him. 


116  THE    BLACK   DROP 

"  No,"  she  said.  "  I  don't  know  anybody.  I  thought 
there  might  be  an  apartment  to  let." 

"  And  was  there?  " 

"  No." 

"  If  there  had  been,  you  couldn't  have  taken  it." 

"  Why?  "  she  asked  pleasantly. 

But  he  had  no  visible  reason.  It  was  hardly  possible  to 
say :  "  Because  my  wife  lives  there."  He  had  still  the 
greatest  repugnance  even  to  the  mention  of  Helen's  name 
to  her.  And  she  saw  that,  and  smiled  over  it.  After  all, 
she  thought,  a  man  does  keep  the  savagely  protecting 
attitude  toward  his  wife.  It  is  because  she  is  his  property. 
What  threatens  her,  threatens  him. 

"  Besides,"  he  said,  taking  another  tack,  "you  don't 
want  to  move,  do  you?  " 

"  It's  a  very  lonesome  house,"  she  said.  "  There  are 
too  many  offices.  When  everybody's  gone  at  night  I  feel 
spooky." 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  anyway  don't  move  down  this  way. 
And  don't  move  anywhere  in  a  hurry.  We'll  talk  it  over 
together  and  see  what  we  can  do." 

Elsa  noted  the  cosy  plural  and  smiled  a  little  behind  her 
veil.  With  one  stride  he  had  bridged  the  practical  abyss. 
And  then  it  seemed,  as  they  walked,  the  trumpets  of  the  air 
called  up  one  after  another  of  the  family  who  were  not 
expected  to  see  them  together,  who  indeed  must  not  see 
them.  First,  Charles  was  to  be  observed  taking  off  his  hat 
to  his  mother,  in  a  few  minutes  saluting  his  father  and 
again,  incredibly,  John.  And  when  he  had  walked  with 
Elsa  to  the  newspaper  office  where  he  was  to  leave  her,  he 
was  scowling  in  the  unrestrained  abandon  of  his  younger 
days.  Elsa  looked  up  in  his  face  and  smiled.  She  grinned 
like  a  mischievous  boy.  Said  she: 


THE   BLACK   DROP  117 

"  It  was  funny,  wasn't  it?  " 

"What  was  funny?"  inquired  Charles. 

He  had  no  idea  she  knew  his  people.  He  hadn't  any 
conception  of  the  number  of  things  she  knew,  of  the  pains 
taking  instinct  that  prompted  her  to  find  them  out  lest 
she  need  them,  or  the  accuracy  with  which  she  had  stored 
them  away.  She  was  one  who  kept  her  facts  mentally  on 
file. 

"  Meeting  them,"  she  said,  "  one  after  the  other."  But 
before  he  could  inquire  where  she'd  seen  them,  she  had  set 
his  mind  spinning  down  another  groove.  "  How  do  you 
think  the  Voice  is  going?  Not  sentimental  enough,  I'm 
afraid.  Some  of  them  have  said  so  already.  Pile  it  on  a 
little  more.  Be  abstract  —  love,  mercy,  meek  inheriting 
the  earth  —  that  kind  of  tiling.  They  won't  know  what 
you  mean  —  the  old  women  of  both  sexes  —  but  that's  no 
matter.  They'll  like  it  all  the  better." 

But  Elsa,  that  night,  smiling  again  over  the  spectacle 
of  the  family,  seriatim,  saluting  her  and  Charles  together, 
also  went  back  ruefully  to  the  disastrous  scene  with  Helen. 
It  had  failed,  she  was  obliged  to  own,  the  audacious  project 
she  had  hit  upon  in  a  moment  of  impatience  at  the  slow 
moving  of  things.  The  interview  was  to  lend  her  a  field 
for  action,  wherein  little  directing  pushes  were  to  be  given 
obscure  events.  Helen  was  to  be  convinced  of  her  hus 
band's  unbroken  loyalty  and  at  the  same  time  wholesomely 
shocked  into  realizing  that,  although  no  siren  had  as  yet 
acquired  inalienable  rights  to  him,  he  was  in  danger.  It 
seemed  to  her  the  logic  of  the  emotions  that  wifely  virtue, 
though  offended,  must  here  rush  in  to  save.  Elsa  was,  as 
she  had  said,  a  business  woman,  and  keen  on  the  scent  of 
what  was  likely  to  detract  from  Charles's  value  to  his  own 
ers.  It  was  desirable  from  every  point  of  view  that  his 


118  THE   BLACK   DROP 

domestic  life  should  be  unassailable.  And  here,  in  a  way, 
she  blamed  herself.  She  ought  never  to  have  been  seen 
with  him  at  all ;  but  when  he  was  first  selected  by  those 
higher  powers  there  had  been  need  of  haste,  and  she  hurried 
with  the  rest.  He  had  been  made  to  feel  the  rush  and 
sweep  of  her  cool  ardor,  alluring,  standing  off,  beckoning  yet 
denying  when  he  came.  And  so  specious  was  he  known  to 
be  that  they  had  never  felt  quite  sure  of  him  until  he  was 
doubly  bound  to  her  over  and  above  the  cause.  He  might 
break  his  bargain,  if  advantage  called  him  to  another 
quarter ;  but  it  would  take  a  more  heroic  Samson  than 
Charles  Tracy  to  struggle  from  the  woman's  mesh. 

Elsa  had,  besides,  an  uneasy  suspicion  that  Helen  might 
know  something  of  his  underground  activities.  Of  that, 
through  her  implied  accusation,  she  meant  to  assure  her 
self.  It  hardly  mattered,  she  thought,  reading  the  fair 
page  of  Helen's  look,  what  one  said  to  her.  She  would 
keep  the  confidence  of  her  enemy,  as  of  her  friend.  And 
working  as  Elsa  was  with  Charles,  responsible  for  him  as 
she  had  been  made  by  the  powers  who  had  given  him  over 
into  her  hands,  she  simply  had  to  know.  So  she  had  set 
her  trap  and  Helen  had  not  even  nibbled.  Innocence,  it 
seemed,  bore  braver  arms  than  guile. 


XII 

WHO  were  they  to  whom  the  Voice  was  to  be  adapted? 
Simply  the  People,  humanity  in  the  rough,  the  People 
bearing  votes  in  their  multitudinous  hands.  They  were 
to  be  confirmed  in  knowledge  of  their  own  strength  and 
to  be  delicately  instructed,  by  implication,  in  the  effective 
using  of  it.  They  were  to  be  reminded  that  not  only  was 
the  vote  theirs  by  unassailable  right,  but  the  option  of 
quitting  the  responsible  job  of  keeping  the  world  alive  or, 
if  it  seemed  good  to  them  in  a  moment  of  political  revolt, 
of  smashing  the  orderly  structure  built  up,  though  imper 
fectly,  by  the  past.  This  last  form  of  power  was  a 
bludgeon  of  a  weapon,  an  actual,  almost  a  visible  force. 
No  skill  or  subtlety  was  required  for  the  use  of  it,  as  the 
People  were  tacitly  informed.  It  was  simply  something 
very  big  and  hard,  and  they  were  expected,  if  not  to 
crack  heads  with  it,  when  the  looked-for  moment  came,  to 
obstruct.  It  was  scarcely  possible  to  estimate  the  poten 
cies  that  were  theirs.  When  the  ship  of  state  got  going 
grandly,  the  wind  of  their  breath  of  power  could  blow 
icebergs  down  from  the  frozen  regions  of  the  mind,  and 
the  icebergs  would  grind  up  against  the  good  ship  and 
beat  her  off  her  course.  The  People  were  not  to  be  in 
cited  to  strangle  the  activities  of  public  life  by  direct  and 
raucous  speech.  They  were  played  upon  by  the  forces 
that  are  mighty  to  pull  down,  to  the  end  that  they  might 
learn  how,  in  their  turn,  to  smash  and  shatter,  and  they 
were  to  be  taught  a  language,  the  language  of  love  which 

110 


120  THE    BLACK    DROP 

meant,  at  this  time,  "  Love  thyself."  And  the  com 
mandment,  "  Thou  shalt  not  kill,"  meant  also,  at  this 
period  of  the  world,  "  Thou  shalt  not  kill  Germans." 

When  Charles  had  left  Elsa,  he  went  on  and  up  the  steps 
to  the  editorial  rooms  of  the  Voice.  He  had  a  delightful 
little  den,  not  more  than  twelve  feet  square,  with  an  old- 
fashioned  desk  and  two  chairs,  and  on  the  wall  a  portrait 
of  Abraham  Lincoln  and  members  of  his  cabinet.  This 
hadn't  been  the  office  when  the  old  regime  was  in  residence. 
That  was  a  grimy  room  with  every  implement  of  up-to- 
date  journalism  flung  about  it  in  the  orderly  confusion 
a  professional  man  loves,  and,  the  only  sign  of  an  avenue 
of  escape  from  what  the  wires  were  bringing  in,  a  set  of 
O.  Henry  over  the  desk.  The  former  editor  never  had 
time  to  read  his  O.  Henry.  He  kept  another  set  at  home, 
and  this  he  did  doze  over  when  he  got  to  bed,  at  all  hours. 
But  by  day,  when  the  wires  throbbed  too  hard  and  his 
ears  beat  with  weariness  and  his  nerves  screamed  out  to  be 
let  alone  and  not  played  upon  any  more  by  the  devil's 
tattoo  of  things  happened,  he  would  look  up  at  the  O. 
Henrys,  and  their  covers  soothed  him,  and  he  would  go 
back  to  work.  But  now  that  the  Voice  was  by  no  means 
what  it  had  been,  save  that  it  swore  it  was  keeping  to 
the  old  policy,  and  even  the  editorial  cubby-holes  of  offices 
were  shifted,  this  one,  presided  over  by  O.  Henry,  became 
the  outer  vestibule  to  Charles's  own.  Here  contributors 
waited  until  he  summoned  them,  or  they  were  told  he 
couldn't,  after  all,  see  them  to-day.  A  girl  under  a  pre 
posterous  yellow  cowlick,  if  that  might  be  considered  the 
name  for  it,  sat  at  a  desk,  a  telephone  before  her,  and  she 
spoke  into  the  next  room  with  a  solicitous  air  which  made 
the  other  end  of  the  wire  seem  a  thousand  miles  away. 
But  Charles,  on  the  other  side  of  the  partition,  answered 


THE    BLACK    DROP 

in  his  own  person  what  she  put  as  an  anxious  appeal  to 
an  unseen  mediary. 

"  Is  Mr.  Tracy  there?  Oh!  Could  you  hunt  him  up? 
Look  in  the  composing  room.  Mr.  Brennan  is  here." 

This  was  what  she  said  one  morning,  and  when  Charles 
replied  immediately  that  Brennan  was  to  come  in,  she 
turned  to  him  with  her  professional  smile  and  said  Mr. 
Tracy  had  that  minute  got  back.  Through  that  door, 
yes.  And  Brennan  opened  it,  frowning  a  little  because  he 
didn't  half  know  whether  he  liked  his  job,  and  went  in,  his 
cartoons  in  his  hand.  It  was  an  exceedingly  urbane  and 
welcoming  Charles  he  found,  aggressively  smooth  and 
fitted  with  irreproachable  clothes.  If  Charles  had  been 
in  a  lower  stratum  of  life  he  would  have  worn  cravats  a 
thought  too  pronounced  and,  it  may  be,  used  scented  soap. 
As  it  was,  he  gave  an  impression  of  sartorial  care  that 
overbore  any  sense  you  might  feel  of  his  having  a  mind 
or  a  possible  soul,  and  Brennan  regarded  him  with  a  dull 
distaste  that  sprang  from  his  own  low  physical  state. 
Brennan's  cough  was  troubling  him  a  little  more  than  for 
a  week  and  he  saw  in  himself  other  symptoms  of  imminent 
banishment.  He  felt  jaded,  fagged,  at  odds  with  life 
that  took  so  much  out  of  you  and  put  nothing  in.  He 
was  irritable,  too,  and  had  been  telling  himself,  while  he 
walked  along  on  his  way  to  the  Voice,  that  he  hated  the 
whole  damned  show  and  he'd  take  himself  out  of  it  if  it 
wasn't  for  the  war.  Even  a  cripple  had  got  to  stand 
by  till  that  was  over,  if  it  was  thirty  years,  if  only  to 
knife  incompetence  and  trickery.  And  had  he  and  the 
other  fellows  really  played  John  a  shabby  trick?  He 
wasn't  sure.  Charles's  perfection  of  attire  seemed  to  him 
wearisome,  if  not  disgusting;  but  when  Charles  had  shaken 
hands  with  him,  a  hearty  clasp,  and  pointed  to  the  chair 


122  THE   BLACK   DROP 

at  the  end  of  the  desk,  Brennan,  seated,  his  package  on 
his  knees,  thought  the  fellow  probably  meant  well,  after 
all. 

"  Now !  "  said  Charles,  as  if  they  had  each  accomplished 
a  long  journey,  traveling  to  each  other,  and  were  happily 
met  at  last,  "what  have  you  got  there?  Are  they  for 
me?  " 

"  Why,  yes,"  said  Brennan  sulkily,  out  of  the  last  shades 
of  his  irritation.  "  I  suppose  they're  for  you.  You've 
bought  me,  haven't  you?  " 

Charles  laughed  a  little,  indulgently,  but  didn't  deny 
he  had.  And  he  took  the  three  cartoons  and  began  to 
study  them,  pursing  his  lips  and  whistling  noiselessly. 
Brennan  waited,  not  looking  at  him.  The  cartoons  would 
be  rejected,  he  knew.  Some  unformulated  distrust  of 
Charles,  some  echo  of  John's  outspoken  anger  and  despair 
that  he  had  sold  himself,  were  working  in  him  and  he  was 
taken  aback  when  Charles  laid  the  cardboard  down  on 
the  desk  before  him  and  said,  with  the  utmost  warmth : 

"  Brennan,  they're  great !  " 

Brennan  did  look  at  him  then,  and  met  his  direct  glance, 
his  whole  air  breathing  such  wholesale  commendation  that 
it  seemed  like  a  warm  wind  enveloping  him  and  changing 
his  arid  judgments  of  the  man  into  something  almost  trem 
ulously  grateful  and  apologetic 

"  They'll  do,  will  they?  "  he  managed. 

"  Do !    My  dear  boy,  they're  ripping." 

"  I  s'pose  they  ought  to  be  used  at  once,"  said  Brennan. 
"  The  only  point  of  a  cartoon  is  to  have  it  in  the  nick  of 
time." 

That  Charles  apparently  didn't  hear.  He  was  exam 
ining  the  topmost  drawing  again,  with  a  thoughtful  yet 
smiling  admiration.  It  was  the  Kangaroo  and  the  Lion 


THE   BLACK   DROP  123 

and  the  Cock,  drilling  —  amazing  spirit  Brennan  had  put 
into  his  creatures  —  and  the  American  Eagle,  tail  feath 
ers  drooping,  picked  up  corn  outside  the  fence.  And 
that  was  the  word  Charles  used. 

"  Amazing !  "  he  said,  "  perfectly  amazing  the  meaning 
you  put  into  a  line." 

Brennan  got  up,  and  his  cough  hacked  at  him. 
Charles,  too,  rose  and  laid  the  cartoons  on  the  desk. 

"  Brennan,"  said  he,  and  paused.  It  sounded  as  if  there 
were  something  he  impulsively  wanted  to  say,  and,  for 
some  reason,  couldn't  allow  himself  the  rash  indulgence. 
Brennan  thought  he  probably  wanted  the  cartoons  altered. 
He  was  used  enough  to  that.  An  editor  often  had  some 
fool  idea  of  his  own  he  expected  to  graft  on  a  finished  piece 
of  work.  And  Charles  was  looking  at  him  apologetically 
and  beginning,  when  the  cough  ceased :  "  What  I'd  like,  you 
know  —  why  don't  you  go  into  the  country  for  a  month 
and  get  rid  of  that  beastly  cold?  " 

Brennan,  for  an  instant,  stood  and  stared  at  him.  No 
body  talked  to  him  about  his  cough,  nobody  but  the  doctor 
who  had  to  sail  into  him  at  intervals  because  Brennan 
treated  his  disease  as  you  might  oppose  a  hated  enemy. 
He  ignored  it,  he  yielded  to  it  when  he  had  to  or  go  under ; 
but  who  knew  what  it  was  to  him  at  night  or  in  the  flat 
middle  of  the  days  when  he  couldn't  work  and  found  his 
tools  receding  from  him  to  a  dim  distance,  though  they 
lay  before  him  on  the  table?  The  doctor  dared  every 
thing  and  swore  at  him  roundly,  because  he  had  a  right 
to ;  but  none  of  Brennan's  friends  seemed  even  to  hear 
his  cough.  Now  Charles  was  looking  at  him  in  so 
warm  a  fellowship,  so  impulsive  an  understanding  of  what 
the  enemy  must  be,  that  Brennan  suddenly  felt  his  knees 
weak  under  him.  Was  he,  he  thought,  going  to  cry? 


124  THE    BLACK   DROP 

"  Go  away,"  said  Charles.  "  Take  a  lot  of  time  —  and 
a  lot  of  money.  I'll  advance  it.  Anything  you  say. 
Your  cartoons  are  good  for  it.  And  don't  come  back  till 
you're  on  your  pins  again.  Send  me  your  stuff.  Or  don't 
send  it.  You'll  be  worth  twice  what  you  are  to-day  if 
you  break  off  short  and  then  pitch  into  it  again." 

"  No,"  said  Brennan  slowly,  "  I  sha'n't  go  away.  I 
don't  need  to  —  not  yet.  And  I  don't  want  any  money." 

But  he  went  off  down  the  stairs  feeling  warmed, 
strengthened,  alert  with  a  brave  excitement.  Charles 
could  always  make  you  feel  twice  the  man  you  were,  if  he 
took  the  trouble.  Now,  at  his  desk,  he  looked  attentively 
yet  absently  at  the  cartoons.  They  were  all  to  the  point 
that  America  was  out  of  the  war  to  her  own  undoing,  and 
that  she  should  be  in  it.  They  preached  haste,  haste. 
Presently  he  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  leaving  them  on  the 
desk,  and  thought,  but  not  of  cartoons  or  the  greedy  maw 
of  his  paper.  He  thought  of  Helen.  He  seemed  to  have 
gone  a  long  way  from  her  since  they  had  had  their  last 
words  together,  and  chiefly  because  he  was  doing  the  things 
she  would  not  countenance.  For  the  last  years,  while 
he  had  been  so  tremendously  in  love  with  her,  he  had  felt 
her  gentle,  mute  commands.  There  were  things  Helen,  in 
his  way  of  putting  it  to  himself,  wouldn't  stand  for,  and 
for  a  long  period  of  time,  he  didn't  do  them.  This  was 
while  she  imaged  the  unattainable  beauty  which  is  a  mad 
ness  to  the  lover  who  sees  how  ineffable  it  is  and  yet  does 
not  possess  it  in  its  inner  perfection,  never  has  possessed 
it,  and  knows  within  himself  he  never  can.  Charles  didn't 
really  care  about  the  inner  perfections  of  Helen:  only  he 
was  convinced  they  were  there  and  he  wanted  them.  The 
way  she  talked  to  his  father  and  grandfather !  he  had 
caught  her  at  it.  Foolish  things  they  rambled  on  about,  and 


THE    BLACK    DROP  125 

laughed  consumedly  at  what  was  of  no  consequence  at  all, 
chiefly  what  didn't  exist.  With  him  his  wife  was  sweetly 
shy  and  silent,  often  adorably  expansive  —  for  Charles 
was  a  wonderful  lover  —  but  yet  with  none  of  that  foolish 
banter  he  so  despised  and  coveted.  Was  she  afraid  of 
him?  Sometimes  he  liked  to  think  she  was.  It  gave  him 
an  uplifting  sense  of  power,  and  he  loved  to  reassure  her. 
But  when  he  did  that,  Helen  smiled  and  he  felt  uneasy. 
What  the  devil  did  women  mean  anyway  by  putting  on  an 
air  of  mystery,  of  perversity,  just  to  add  to  their  own 
charm?  And  then  he  would  think  back  over  the  days  of 
their  life  together,  the  sweet  security  of  it,  and  relent 
toward  her:  for  no  woman  was  ever  a  more  perfect  com 
panion  in  the  beaten  ways.  She  demanded  nothing,  she 
gave  generously.  The  trouble  was,  he  thought  this  morn 
ing,  as  he  settled  back  in  his  chair,  frowning  over  the  per 
verse  coil  of  things,  she  probably  had  no  sense  of  humor. 
She  laughed  with  the  rest  of  the  family  over  childish  things 
because  that  was  the  only  kind  that  pleased  her  and  they, 
being  fond  of  her,  helped  it  along.  But  as  to  her  connec 
tion  with  him,  one  of  the  biggest  grudges  he  had  against 
her  now  was  that  she  had  been  solemn  of  late  —  indulgent, 
insultingly  so  —  but  solemn. 

And  then  the  telephone  rang  and  the  voice  from  the  next 
room  told  him  Mr.  Bailey  was  there.  He  recalled  himself 
from  the  uneven  ground  of  woman's  perversity,  shuffled 
the  cartoons  together  and  thrust  them  into  a  lower  drawer. 
Any  one  seeing  them  go  in  there,  with  an  unregarding  haste 
and  roughness,  would  have  known  they  were  not  soon  to 
come  out  again.  Bailey  opened  the  door  and  put  in  a 
small,  shy  foot.  There  he  hung  a  moment,  blushing,  if 
his  pink  cheeks  could  be  pinker.  The  boys  used  to  say 
enviously  and  profanely  to  Bailey  that  this  feigned  shy- 


126  THE    BLACK   DROP 

ness  was  an  asset.  He  was  as  coy  as  a  girl.  He  looked 
as  if  butter  wouldn't  melt.  But  that  was  only  until  he'd 
got  out  of  his  protagonist  everything  he  wanted  of  him. 
Then  butter  did  melt  and  he  swore  picturesquely,  kicked 
up  his  heels  and  was  off;  or  he  stayed  and  made  you  ac 
quainted  with  the  real  Bailey.  To  this  banter  Bailey 
never  returned  more  than  the  assurance :  "  But  I  really 
am  shy."  Perhaps  Charles  had  studied  him,  perhaps  he 
knew  him  by  intuition.  At  any  rate,  he  received  him  as 
one  man  of  the  world  talking  to  another.  Bailey  took  a 
chair  and  tucked  his  feet  under  it  in  his  stereotyped  man 
ner.  No,  he  wouldn't  smoke.  Didn't  smoke.  Didn't  be 
lieve  in  it,  in  fact.  Sound  mind  in  a  sound  body,  he  sug 
gested.  Charles  only  laughed  and  left  the  tobacco  near 
him.  He'd  seen  Bailey  enveloped  in  a  cloud,  puffing  fa 
mously.  What  his  game  was  now  he  didn't  know,  but 
Charles  had  a  game  of  his  own. 

"Brought  me  some  stuff?"  he  asked. 

Bailey  was  regarding  him  with  eyes  of  clearest  can 
dor. 

"  I  didn't  know  what  you  wanted,"  he  said.  "  I 
dropped  in  for  a  tip." 

"Why,  your  verse,  of  course.     That's  our  contract." 

"  On  the  same  lines  ?  " 

"  Precisely." 

"  Same  as  I've  been  doing?  " 

"  Yes.     It's  corking." 

Bailey  almost  imperceptibly  smacked  his  lips.  He  had 
his  own  unassailable  opinion  of  his  work.  He  didn't  well 
see  how  it  could  be  better.  But  he  wanted  some  things 
more  clearly  understood.  He  had  been  virtually  hypno 
tised  that  day  when  he  and  Charles  made  their  bargain, 
and  he  had  begun  to  wonder  whether  Charles  always  had 


THE   BLACK   DROP  127 

that  effect  when  he  wanted  anything  very  much.  You 
ran  toward  him  as  eagerly  as  you  sometimes  afterward 
wanted  to  run  away. 

"  But  you  know,"  said  he,  determined  now  to  get  every 
thing  clear,  "  you  know  how  I've  been  pitching  into  things  : 
thrones,  principalities,  powers,  rotten  parties.  Sure  you 
want  me  to  keep  on,  same  old  way?  I  want  to,  mind  you. 
I'd  rather  do  it  than  eat.  In  fact,  I  do  it  better  than  I 
do  anything  else." 

Charles  was  looking  at  him  indulgently,  and  as  if  he 
found  him  exceedingly  interesting  to  meet,  as  if  it  were 
impossible  not  to  agree  with  him,  and  again  Bailey  had 
that  eager  sensation  of  wanting  to  go  forward,  almost 
anywhere,  if  Charles  led.  But  he  thought  it  was  only  his 
own  dream  he  wanted  to  pursue. 

"  Do  it,"  said  Charles,  "  pitch  in  all  you  want  to.  Give 
it  to  'em,  hot.  I  sha'n't  trip  you  up.  Though  I  would 
suggest  —  now,  I  don't  know  how  you'll  take  this  —  a 
little,  a  very  little  caution." 

Bailey's  pink  face  turned  sulky. 

"  Don't  like  it,"  he  said.  "  Head  over  heels,  slap-dash, 
that's  the  only  way  I  can  fight.  Snatch  up  a  plough 
share  or  a  pruning  hook,  if  you  can't  find  your  pen.  And 
my  stuff  is  fighting,  you  understand.  It's  the  only  sort 
I  can  do.  Literature  can  go — well,  literature  can  go  to 
hell  till  this  war  is  over.  Till  then  I  don't  mean  to  write 
a  word  that  isn't  meant  to  persuade  some  man  —  some 
tens  and  hundreds  of  men  —  to  think  right  and  vote  right 
and  fight  right." 

Somehow  Bailey  didn't  look  rosy  and  fair-skinned  when 
he  said  that.  You  forgot  his  long  lashes,  and  the  way  he 
had  drawn  up  his  foot  under  the  chair.  He  looked  very 
stiff  and  hard,  the  soldier  look,  stiff  from  training  and 


128  THE    BLACK   DROP 

hard  because  he  knows  what  medicine  is  the  only  remedy 
for  certain  ills. 

"  You  mustn't  ask  me  to  write  anything  that  isn't  prop 
aganda,"  he  went  on,  "  for  I  won't  do  it.  That's  flat.  I 
won't  write  at  all." 

"Oh,"  said  Charles,  at  once,  and  with,  it  seemed,  only 
a  concerned  benevolence,  "  you  must  write  and  you  must 
write  for  me.  Our  contract  holds  us  horribly  tight,  you 
see.  Because  if  you  don't  write  for  me,  you  can't  for 
anybody.  And  you  must  write.  You're  too  valuable 
to  lose." 

"  Say,"  said  Bailey,  growing  pink  again,  and  grinning 
at  the  clever  thought  he'd  had,  "  I  believe  I  ought  to  have 
bound  you  tighter  in  that  contract.  Why,  you're  only  tied 
to  the  extent  of  paying  me  for  my  exclusive  output.  Now 
I  swear  I  believe  you  ought  to  have  been  tied  up  to  print 
a  certain  number  of  my  things  a  week.  You've  bought 
'em,  but  how  do  I  know  you'll  print  'em?  " 

He  laughed,  like  the  shrewd  chap  he  had  begun  to  feel 
himself,  and  Charles  laughed,  too,  louder  and  longer  than 
he  did.  There  was  a  duet  of  laughter,  quite  like  a  stage 
gust  of  two  who  know  a  joke  and  egg  each  other  on. 
Charles  stopped  first,  and  came  down  to  an  indulgent 
staccato. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  there's  one  proof  I  shall  print  you. 
I  tried  hard  enough  to  get  your  stuff,  now  didn't  I?  " 

So  that  Bailey  was  absurdly  satisfied,  and  got  up  to  go. 

"  Then,"  said  he,  "I'm  to  stir  up  a  little  brimstone  in 
a  pail  and  set  her  afire." 

"  You're  miles  behind,"  said  Charles.  "  Brimstone? 
Your  stuff's  like  some  of  the  latest  scientific  fizz-bangs 
the  boches  are  using.  They'd  like  to  get  hold  of  you  and 
set  you  going.  But  after  all  —  see  here,  Bailey,  I  be- 


THE   BLACK   DROP  129 

lieve  you  could  get  a  bigger  pull  if  you  went  a  little  mild 
at  first.  Now  you  want  to  drive  America  into  the  war. 
Why  can't  you  do  some  idyllic  stuff  about  America  at 
peace?  That  first,  you  know.  Then  show  it's  a  false 
peace,  a  lying  security.  See?  And  go  at  it  again,  ham 
mer  and  tongs,  —  war !  war !  " 

Bailey  stood  looking  at  him  from  under  frowning  brows. 
The  pink  again  had  faded  from  his  face.  He  looked  like 
youth  grown  old  in  wisdom.  Yet  not  suspicion :  he  had  no 
doubts  of  Charles.  He  spoke  seriously,  as  if  he  admon 
ished  Charles,  recalled  him. 

"  No,  Mr.  Tracy,"  he  said.  "  That's  compounding 
with  villainy.  I  can't  do  that.  I  can't  waste  a  word  on 
idyllic  pictures.  I'm  not  prophesying  —  or  if  I  am,  it's 
not  any  holy  city  I  see.  I'd  rather  be  a  baby  Isaiah,  fore 
telling  the  ruin  to  come,  and  calling  on  us,  if  we  don't  re 
pent  —  no,  calling  on  the  rocks  to  hide  us." 

He  meant  it  tremendously,  more  amazingly  so  than 
Charles  had  ever  seen  anybody  mean  anything  except 
Helen  when  she  owned  her  love  for  him.  And  perhaps  it 
was  really  amazing  because  it  was  this  physically  ineffec 
tive  creature  who  spoke,  who  couldn't  defend  his  country 
with  the  strength  of  his  hands  but  was  giving  her  every 
thing  he  had  —  the  power  of  his  brain  and  his  will  and  the 
pangs  of  his  sick  heart.  For  an  instant  Charles,  who 
liked  to  answer  every  man  according  to  his  own  type  of 
desire,  felt  about  for  something  stately  —  old  Testament 
stuff,  he  thought,  to  throw  back,  but  all  he  could  manage 
was : 

"  Of  course,  do  as  you  like,  do  it  your  own  way.  That'll 
suit  me." 

"  It'll  have  to  suit  you,"  said  Bailey,  and  as  he  went 
out  he  knew  his  hand  on  the  door-knob  trembled  and  he 
hated  himself,  knowing  Charles  would  see  it,  too. 


XIII 

CHARLES  made  a  long  day  at  the  office,  getting  his  hand 
on  the  machinery,  shutting  off  power  here  and  dropping 
a  little  oil  in  there.  He  gave  some  time  to  initiating  a 
new  man,  because  one  of  the  old  staff  had  been  discharged, 
for  a  sophistical  reason.  The  others  were  going  to  be  dis 
charged  as  sophistical  reasons  accumulated.  Only  this  they 
did  not  yet  suspect.  Charles  had  come  in  with  such  a  breeze 
of  banners  blowing,  such  a  warm  and  even  too  ingenuous 
appreciation  of  everybody,  as  it  seemed,  that  the  first 
apprehension  of  changed  conditions  was  effectually  lulled. 
He  looked,  indeed,  incredibly  too  "  easy."  But  every 
body  buttressed  up  the  daily  task  with  an  added  diligence, 
momentary,  perhaps,  but  natural  under  the  first  breath 
ings  of  relief,  and  was  strengthened  anew  with  the  cer 
tainty  that  the  policy  of  the  paper  was  to  remain  un 
changed.  And  who  could  support  an  unchanged  policy 
so  unerringly  as  the  old  staff?  Charles  had  been  trying 
for  a  week  to  get  hold  of  Finch,  whom  also  he  had  bought 
for  his  exclusive  output,  and  Finch  wasn't  to  be  found. 
There  were  traditions  that  he  lived  in  a  shanty  out  of 
town  and  raised  ducks  and  that  even  the  R.  F.  D.  dropped 
his  mail  down  a  woodchuck's  hole.  But  at  the  end  of  the 
day  came  in  two  of  Finch's  brief,  biting  editorials,  the  work 
Charles  had  bought  him  for.  Charles  read  them,  swore  at 
them,  tore  them  in  two  and  dropped  them  in  the  basket. 
He  had  not  acquired  Finch  to  write  editorials  assailing 
sloth  in  high  places.  He  had  meant  to  get  a  mollifying 
influence  on  him  before  he  put  pen  to  paper.  Finch's 

130 


THE   BLACK   DROP  131 

mission  was  to  exalt  the  arts  of  peace,  to  deplore  a 
shadow  of  militarism,  for  whatever  cause,  creeping  over 
America's  bright  dream.  This  was,  it  is  to  be  remembered, 
the  early  winter  of  1916.  No  need,  except  for  the  histo 
rian,  of  recalling  those  days  now,  except  as  we  ponder  their 
admonition  and  as  they  affected  the  lives  of  men.  Every 
body  was  being  moulded  by  them,  in  one  way  or  another, 
whether  they  knew  it  or  not.  But  of  the  big  events 
America  came  up  against,  like  the  late  presidential  election 
and  the  attitude  of  Washington  toward  the  world,  it  is 
not  necessary  to  speak  here.  The  men  and  women  of  this 
story  were  breathing  with  the  time,  like  other  men  and 
women,  hurt  by  it,  briefly  encouraged  and  then  bruised 
again.'  For  they  were  a  part  of  the  world,  and  the  world 
was  at  war. 

Charles,  that  day,  went  home  dog-tired.  He  was 
fractious  to  the  breaking  point,  and  there  was  no  one  to 
turn  to  for  understanding  or  soft  words.  Mrs.  Daven 
port  was  in  New  York,  to  meet  the  chief  of  her  department 
of  propaganda.  Charles  could  not  bring  himself  to  go 
round  to  see  the  family.  He  felt  their  guarded  antago 
nism,  had  felt  it  at  once,  as  soon  as  he  told  them  his  wife 
had  left  him.  They  were,  he  knew,  standing  by  Helen. 
When  he  got  home  to  his  irreproachable  house  there  was 
another  provocative  to  irritation  in  Cross,  the  perfect 
indoor  man,  who  had  served  him  for  a  couple  of  years  and 
never  more  like  a  beneficent  shadow  than  since  Helen  had 
gone ;  but  Cross  was,  he  furiously  felt,  inside  that 
unpenetrated  silence  where  the  souls  of  butlers  hold  integ 
rity,  also  standing  by  Helen.  He  ate  his  dinner  with 
the  evening  paper  before  him,  and  got  furious  with  it 
because  it  crumpled  up  and  played  tricks  with  his  wine 
glass  and  plate.  Finally  the  whole  offensiveness  of  the 


132  THE   BLACK   DROP 

world  seemed  to  pass  into  the  paper,  and  he  swore  at  it 
and  threw  it  on  the  floor.  And  when  Cross  picked  it  up, 
and  restored  it  to  a  paper's  normal  placidity  and  proffered 
it  again,  with  an  unsympathetic  neutrality,  he  swore  at 
him,  too,  and  had  some  ado  to  keep  from  striking  the  paper 
from  his  hand. 

But  he  finished  his  dinner  without  interest  and  then  went 
off  to  the  library,  leaving  the  paper  behind  him.  He  sat 
down  by  the  fire,  stretched  his  legs  out  and  began  to  smoke 
with  a  luxurious  assumption  that  he  was  making  himself 
extraordinarily  comfortable.  Yet,  as  he  smoked,  he  saw 
that  the  very  perfection  of  the  house  and  its  service, 
instead  of  making  Helen's  absence  more  tolerable,  had 
embittered  it  tenfold.  If  he  had  found  the  dust  and  ashes 
that  were  on  his  head,  over  his  dignity,  his  reputation 
among  men,  also  over  the  entire  suface  of  the  tangible 
desert  she  had  left  behind  her,  he  thought  he  need  not  have 
been  so  furious  with  her.  He  had  once  gone  with  his 
mother  to  the  house  of  a  farmer  near  Grasslands,  where 
the  wife  had  died  and  the  farmer  was  trying  to  get  along 
alone.  He  never  forgot  the  forlorn  aspect  of  the  place: 
the  plants  unwatered  and  drooping,  the  last  meal  left  in 
disarray  on  the  table,  ashes  on  the  hearth  and  dust  dulling 
everything.  Charles  wasn't  sympathetic  over  the  tawdry 
scene.  He  only  thought  how  like  the  dickens  old  Phinney's 
place  looked,  and  now,  as  he  sat  in  the  dustless  luxuriance 
of  his  own  silent  room,  the  picture  of  it  recurred  to  him  and 
he  decided  old  Phinney's  case  was  better  than  his  own. 
For  at  least  he  could  damn  the  dust,  and  Charles  had  only 
Helen  to  damn.  His  anger  kept  rising  in  him,  tide  upon 
tide,  until  at  last  it  seemed  to  him  it  had  to  have  an  outlet 
or  it  would  return  upon  him  and  submerge  his  heart. 
He  got  up  and  went  to  the  telephone  and  called  Helen's 


THE   BLACK   DROP  133 

number.  He  had  no  plan.  He  was  going  to  call  her  up, 
that  was  all.  While  he  waited,  his  brain  suddenly  grew 
composed,  alert  in  its  working,  and  his  anger  seemed  to 
go.  What  should  he  say,  he  wondered,  if  it  were  Jessie 
who  came?  Well,  he  could  simply  hang  up  the  receiver 
and  give  it  up,  give  up  what  he  meant  to  do,  though  even 
at  this  last  instant  he  hardly  knew  what  that  was.  His 
mind  might  know,  that  little  cocksure  person  sitting  with 
in.  He  didn't.  But  it  was  Helen  who  answered.  Her 
perfect  voice  with  the  little  lift  in  it  came  with  such  a 
shock  of  nearness  that  he  felt  as  if  she  had  touched  his 
hand.  Then  he  spoke  and  his  voice  was  not  his  own. 
It  was  his  father's.  The  little  cocksure  person  within 
was  managing  that. 

"  That  you,  Helen  of  the  Topless  Towers?  "  He  had 
heard  his  father  banter  her  with  that  when  they  whipped 
up  their  old  foolish  gaieties  together.  She  laughed,  and 
he  knew  she  was  taken  in.  But  the  laugh,  the  unchanged 
laugh,  seemed  to  him  the  cruellest  thing  he  had  ever  heard. 
She  was  laughing,  and  she  had  abandoned  him  to  the 
horrible  desert  of  his  dustless  and  irreproachable  solitude. 

"  Yes,  dear,"  said  she.      "  How  are  the  other  dears?  " 

"  Put  on  your  hat  and  run  over,"  said  he.  "  Father 
wants  to  see  you." 

"  Yes,  in  just  a  minute,  when  Jessie  comes  back.  John's 
taken  her  for  a  spin  round  the  Common.  They're  going 
to  run.  I  told  them  they'd  be  arrested." 

"  You  come  along,"  said  Charles.  "  We  don't  want 
Jessie.  It's  a  joke.  Leave  her  a  note  and  come." 

"  All  right,"  said  Helen. 

He  hung  up  the  receiver  and  went  back  to  his  chair  and 
sat  there,  leaning  forward,  his  hands  between  his  knees. 
He  felt  sick,  and  the  sweat  stood  on  his  forehead.  But 


134  THE   BLACK   DROP 

while  he  sat  there  Helen,  he  knew,  would  be  putting  on 
her  hat,  and  he  got  up  and  went  into  the  hah1  as  softly 
as  he  could,  not  to  notify  Cross  who,  with  his  ever 
lasting  officiousness,  was  always  on  the  alert,  took  his 
hat  and  coat  and  hurried  out.  He  walked  very  fast  up 
the  hill  to  Helen's  number  and  past  it,  and  when  he 
had  come  to  the  corner  above,  halted  to  watch.  For 
several  minutes  he  stayed  there,  and  the  blood  in  him 
began  to  cool  and  his  courage  to  ebb  downward.  He 
had  stayed  too  long  in  his  chair,  hating  her.  She  had 
escaped  him  and  gone.  And  just  as  he  was  thinking 
some  of  them  would  come  home  with  her  and  he  might  as 
well  give  up  all  hope  for  that  night,  she  came  out,  turned 
to  give  a  look  up  and  down  the  street,  and  then  went  on, 
with  her  individual  beauty  of  haste.  He  was  cool  again 
now  and  started  on  behind  her,  with  long  strides  and  as 
noiselessly  as  he  could.  Once  he  felt  she  was  going  to  stop 
—  it  was  only  the  extreme  apprehension  of  his  nerves  — 
and  he  turned  back  and  walked  the  other  way.  But  in 
a  minute  he  looked  and  found  she  was  going  on,  and  now  she 
was  nearly  at  the  corner.  If  she  turned  that  he  must  lose 
her,  for  he  could  never  halt  her  in  the  brighter  light. 
When  he  came  up  beside  her  he  walked  with  her  a  step  or 
two  without  speaking  and  she  looked  up  at  him.  There 
was  the  least  perceptible  break  in  her  pace,  but  she  was 
keeping  on  and  he  knew  he  had  to  be  very  quick  in  his 
force  or  his  persuasion. 

"  Helen !  "  he  said. 

She  made  no  answer. 

"  Helen,  you're  coming  home  with  me." 

The  little  cocksure  person  up  in  his  brain  had  tossed  him 
that.  It  was  a  phrase  he  and  Helen  both  remembered, 
from  the  old  time  when  they  had  been  so  passionately 


THE   BLACK   DROP  135 

wrapped  in  each  other  that  once,  midway  in  a  journey 
when  she  was  to  leave  him,  to  visit  her  own  people,  he  had 
said  to  her,  at  the  last  minute :  "  Helen,  you're  coming 
home  with  me."  And  she  had  yielded,  in  delight  at  yield 
ing  and  the  manner  of  it,  his  loving  roughness,  her  glory 
in  submission,  and  they  had  said  the  phrase  many  a  time 
to  each  other  after,  to  emphasize  by  a  word  the  misery  of 
parting.  What  did  it  mean  to  her  now?  He  waited  an 
instant,  and  then,  as  she  didn't  speak,  didn't  move  her 
face  toward  him,  and,  as  they  came  to  the  corner,  turned 
to  go  her  way,  he  knew.  She  had  not  forgotten  the  old 
password.  She  was  repudiating  it.  And  if  she  didn't 
heed  that,  there  was  no  persuasion  for  it,  only  violence. 
He  put  his  arm  about  her  and  swept  her  from  her  course. 
The  whole  slight  strength  of  her  was  against  him.  They 
were  not  struggling,  but  he  was  half  carrying,  half  drag 
ging  her,  and  at  last  he  felt  mastery  and  its  wild  delight. 
Nobody  was  in  the  street,  and  he  was  sure  now  of  what  he 
was  to  do.  More  and  more  she  resisted  him,  and  now  so 
heavily  that  he  wondered  if  she  could  be  fainting;  but  he 
put  his  other  hand  under  her  chin  and  turned  her  face  up 
to  him.  She  had  closed  her  eyes.  For  an  instant  he  had 
a  mad  impulse  to  kiss  the  white,  immobile  face,  to  kiss  it 
brutally,  reminding  her  he  had  the  right.  But  after 
all,  he  didn't  want  to  kiss  her.  He  was,  he  realised  at  the 
instant,  insanely  angry  with  her,  and,  fainting  or  not, 
she  had  to  go  with  him. 

Helen  was  not  fainting.  She  was  strung  up  to  the 
tension  that  meets  tremendous  onslaughts  on  the  will. 
And  this  place  where  she  found  herself  —  this  danger,  she 
believed  it  —  was  something  she  had  foreseen  and  terribly 
imagined.  For  the  moment  had  to  come,  she  had  told  her 
self,  when  she  would  meet  Charles  and  find  him  angry  with 


THE   BLACK   DROP 

her.  And  the  insanity  of  his  anger  she  knew,  though  its 
fury  had  always  passed  her  by.  Helen,  like  other  women 
through  the  war,  had  been  learning  a  new  commandment: 
"  Thou  shalt  not  be  afraid."  She  had  been  looking  over 
to  Europe  and  marveling  at  what  other  women,  assaulted 
by  the  hideous  grotesquerie  of  evil,  were  enduring,  at  the 
dogged  patience  of  their  meeting  that  grim  destiny, 
and  she  had  determined  that  nothing  should  ever  make  her 
flinch.  Nothing,  if  she  were  attacked,  should  lead  her  to 
take  refuge  amid  the  complaining  chorus  of  physical 
frailty.  In  her  measure  she  would  stand  up  to  things  as 
the  world  was  standing.  She  would  fight  her  weight.  But 
she  was,  at  this  instant,  powerless  in  his  hands,  horribly 
afraid,  and  she  was  thinking  as  tumultuously  as  Charles. 
Fears  came  to  her  so  fast  that  it  seemed  as  if  they  pelted 
like  hail.  At  one  of  the  turnings  he  paused  slightly,  and 
she  wondered  whether  he  would  take  her  down  to  the 
embankment  where  he  could  talk  to  her  in  a  greater 
solitude,  or  whether  he  would  hurry  her  over  the  railing 
and  leave  her  there  to  drown.  She  could  swim,  but  she 
also  thought,  with  a  grim  sort  of  detachment,  how  heavy 
her  coat  was,  how  impossible  it  would  be  to  get  it  off  in. 
the  water  and  then,  like  one  in  delirium,  dwelling  on 
suggested  trivialities,  she  remembered  how  many  hooks 
there  were  on  the  dress  she  wore,  and  thought  how  hostile 
all  confining  things  are  when  you  come  to  be  killed. 

He  was  carrying  her  on,  and  when  they  had  passed  two 
more  corners  she  knew  she  was  not  to  drown.  She  was, 
exactly  in  the  words  of  the  remembered  phrase,  going  home 
with  him.  There  was  relief  in  that,  and  yet  she  was  not 
sure  there  might  not  be  something  else  at  the  end  of  the 
quick  journey  to  make  her  the  more  afraid.  He  took  her 
up  the  steps,  and  she  was  not  resisting  now  with  every  inch. 


THE   BLACK   DROP  137 

of  her.  Something  in  her  resolution  had  dulled.  She  was 
saving  herself  for  the  next  step,  the  unknown.  When  he 
put  his  key  in  the  door  she  did  break  away  and  run,  and 
got  half  a  dozen  paces  before  he  caught  her.  But  he  was 
there  instantly  and  she  shrank,  thinking  he  would  strike 
her  down  and  carry  her  in  helpless,  because  it  was  less 
trouble. 

Charles  had  no  idea  of  striking  her.  He  was  trium 
phantly  sure  of  her  now,  and  he  threw  his  arm  again  about 
her  and  swept  her  on  and  up  the  steps,  in  a  swift  rush 
because  now  nothing  remained  but  to  get  it  over,  and  he 
opened  the  door  and  freed  her,  standing  beside  her  in  the 
hall  and  smiling.  And  facing  her,  cap  in  hand,  was  Cross, 
who  knew  Charles  went  out  and  was  about  to  follow  on 
some  errand  of  his  own,  but,  hearing  the  door  close,  had 
hurried  in  from  the  back  regions  to  see  who  came.  He 
had  been  devoted  to  Helen  and  he  stood  stark  at  the  sight 
of  her.  His  thin  face  suffused  and  he  looked,  Charles  in 
his  triumph  thought,  as  if  he  might  break  down  and  sob. 
Charles  wondered  why  Cross  hadn't  sobbed  a  little  over 
him.  It  was  Cross  who  broke  the  bounds  of  decorum  and 
spoke,  but  only  the  one  word: 

"  Madam !  " 

Helen,  instantly  recalled  to  the  sanities  of  life  by  the 
mere  sight  of  him,  made  a  little  gesture  toward  the  door, 
and  Cross  understood.  He  opened  the  door,  she  stepped 
out  and  he  followed  her,  and  Charles  called  after  him, 
an  angry,  hoarse  bark,  like  a  dog. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Cross  respectfully.  But  he  closed  the 
door. 

Helen  was  walking  fast  and  he  went  on  behind  her. 
She  had  given  him  only  that  one  glance  and  he  could  not 
he  sure  she  would  speak  to  him  again.  Did  she  even 


138  THE   BLACK   DROP 

know  he  was  there?  Helen  had  indeed  forgotten  him, 
forgotten  Charles  and  the  present  moment.  Memories 
were  overwhelming  her.  She  had  stood  there  in  the  hall 
an  instant  only  before  Cross  opened  the  door  for  her, 
but  it  had  been  long  enough  for  one  look  at  the  wide 
staircase,  the  old  clock  at  the  turn  of  the  landing,  and 
in  the  library  at  the  left  her  own  portrait  smiling  at  her 
from  the  wall.  Another  slightest  token  of  her  strange 
ness  in  the  dear  lost  spot  was  the  pile  of  visiting  cards. 
These  were  the  last  ripples  of  social  favor  likely  to  rise 
for  her  again.  They,  too,  if  she  did  not  soon  take  her 
accredited  place  in  that  little  world,  would  cease.  To 
night  she  was  like  a  poor  ghost  revisiting  the  scenes  of 
mortal  rites  and  obligations.  How  soon  would  it  be 
before  she  was  indeed  forgotten? 

Now  her  steps  drooped  and  her  breath  came  feebly. 
She  stopped,  aware,  as  she  must  have  been  all  along, 
of  Cross.  He  came  up  beside  her  and  Helen,  not  speaking, 
put  her  hand  through  his  arm,  and  Cross  was  proud. 
They  went  on  together,  and  at  the  corner  before  her  own 
block  she  stopped. 

"  Thank  you,"  she  said.     "  Now  you  may  go  back." 
"  Madam !  "  said  Cross,  from  his  anxious  heart. 
"  No,"  said  Helen.    "  It's  only  a  step.    And  thank  you." 
At  her  own  door,  she  looked.     Cross  was  still  there.    He 
was,  in  the  old  country  phrase,  seeing  her  home.     When 
the  door  closed  behind  her,  he  went  back  and  found  what 
he  expected :  Charles,  in  the  library,  waiting  to  call  him  in 
and  get  his  notice.     Charles  was  not  in  the  towering  rage 
Cross   had   pictured   that   minute   before   the   encounter. 
He  was  coldly  contemptuous  and  framed  the  man's  dis 
missal  decorously,  and  Cross  received  it  with  the  "  Very 
good,  sir,"  of  an  unvarying  professional  respect.     Then 


THE   BLACK   DROP  139 

he  went  up  to  put  his  things  together  —  for  he  was  to  go 
at  once  —  and  left  Charles  standing  there  before  Helen's 
picture,  looking  up,  in  what  seemed  an  unmoved  interest, 
at  its  wraith-like  innocence.  But  Charles  really  had  a 
choking  in  his  throat  and  a  burning  of  the  eyelids.  He 
could  not  have  told  what  he  was  feeling,  whether  he  loved 
her  or  whether  he  hated  her.  He  had  an  unwilling 
admiration  for  her  because  she  had  taken  him  by  surprise 
and  had  defeated  him.  And  then  the  inner  welling  of  his 
emotion  went  down,  and  he  swore  aloud,  in  a  normal  anger, 
and  at  the  same  moment  Cross,  flinging  his  belongings 
together  in  what  had  been  his  orderly  room,  but  was  now 
a  wild  chaos  of  trouser-legs  and  shirt-sleeves,  also  swore. 
Each  was  the  natural  man  in  his  revolt  against  conditions, 
and  very  much  alike  they  were,  in  spite  of  the  No  Man's 
Land  between  them. 

Helen  went  upstairs  with  her  usual  light  steadiness  and 
into  her  own  room  where  she  put  her  things  away.  Jessie 
was  calling  her  from  the  sitting-room  and  she  went  in, 
able,  she  had  no  doubt,  to  account  for  herself  easily. 
Jessie  was  on  the  sofa,  her  hair  disordered  from  the 
vehemence  of  her  butting  about  for  hollows  in  the  pillow, 
a  book  face  down  beside  her.  She  was  a  picture  of  sweetest 
youth  in  disarray.  Helen,  who  was  orderly  in  the  measure 
Jessie  was  not,  went  forward,  and  picked  up  the  book, 
smoothed  it  as  if  to  make  up  for  ill-treatment,  and  put 
it  on  the  table.  Then  she  sat  down  in  her  low  chair  and 
began  to  tremble,  and  this  went  on  until  her  teeth  chattered 
and  she  was  a  piteous  sight.  Jessie  sprang  up  and  went  to 
her.  First  she  hugged  her,  in  her  impetuous  puppy  way, 
and  then  she  ran  into  the  dining-room  and  threw  open  the 
sideboard  for  a  cordial  of  some  sort,  and  on  to  Helen's 
room  and  came  back  with  lavender  salts. 


140  THE   BLACK   DROP 

"  Not  a  drop  of  liquor  in  this  house,"  she  said.  "  To 
morrow  morning  you'll  order  some  or  I'll  see.  O  darlin' 
dear,  what  is  it?  " 

Helen  smiled  at  her  ineffectually  and  bit  her  lips  and 
tried  all  the  shifts  the  poor  body  has  at  call  when  it  is 
shamefully  shaken,  and  by  and  by  the  trembling  stopped 
and  she  drew  a  long  breath  again.  But  she  was  still  cold, 
and  Jessie  brought  a  fur  coat  and  wrapped  her  in  it,  and 
sat  at  her  feet  and  looked  up  at  her. 

"What  is  it,  darlin'  dear?"  she  said  again.  "Tell 
Jessie." 

But  Helen  shook  her  head. 

"  You  wrote  you  were  going  over  to  the  house,"  said 
Jessie.  "  Didn't  you  go?  " 

Again  Helen  shook  her  head. 

"Why  not?  Did  anybody  bother  you?  Did  you  get 
frightened?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Helen.     "  I  got  frightened." 

"  You  sha'n't  go  out  alone,"  said  Jessie.  "  But 
oughtn't  I  to  telephone  them  and  tell  why  you  didn't 
come?  " 

"  No,"  said  Helen,  and  later,  when  Jessie  proposed  it 
again,  she  got  fractious  over  it  and  asked  to  be  let  alone, 
and  then  was  sorry.  But  that  night,  after  they  had  both 
tried  hard  to  sleep,  Jessie  got  up  and  went  in  to  her  and 
knelt  by  the  bed  and  laid  her  cheek  to  Helen's  hand,  put 
out  to  welcome  her. 

"What  was  it,  dear?"  she  asked  her.  "You  trouble 
me  when  you  don't  tell." 

"  I  got  frightened,  that  was  all,"  said  Helen.  "  Run 
back,  dear.  You'll  be  cold."  But  as  Jessie  was  going, 
she  called  after  her,  "  To-morrow  we'll  have  a  chain  put  on 
the  door." 


XIV 

ON  the  following  night,  John  sat  with  grandsir  before 
the  fire  up  in  grandsir's  room.  A  little  dinner  was 
going  on  downstairs,  some  of  Norris's  old  friends  of  pen 
and  ink,  and  John,  who  was  never  sanguine  of  being 
amused  by  oldsters  who  talked  down  to  him,  dined  out, 
coming  up  later  to  steal  a  half-hour's  solitude  with  grand- 
sir  whom  he  found  rather  better  than  usual,  and,  as 
it  always  happened  when  his  enemy  intermitted  hostilities, 
ready  for  life  and  the  call  of  things.  Grandsir  had  just 
walked  across  the  floor  —  happy  excursion  to  one  who  was 
customarily  petrified  in  a  chair  —  and  had  returned  to  the 
fire,  and  there  John  found  him  and  also  stretched  his  legs 
to  the  blaze.  When  John  had  grandsir  to  himself  at 
moments  of  care-free  intercourse  like  this,  he  was,  he 
admitted  frankly,  made.  Besides,  he  had  something  to  tell. 

"  Grandsir,"  said  he,  feeling  very  shy. 

"  What  is  it,  old  boy?"  asked  grandsir,  stretching  one 
foot  further  in  a  luxurious  testing. 

"  I'm  going,"  said  John,  "  to  make  you  a  munificent 
offer.  I  told  Allan  I  should." 

"My  Allan  Lloyd?" 

"  Yes.  He  can't  tell  you.  Says  you'll  think  he  wants 
to  do  it.  And  he  doesn't  want  to.  He's  got  to,  that's 
all." 

"  He's  going  to  leave  me,"  said  grandsir  quietly,  draw- 

141 


142  THE    BLACK   DROP 

ing  his  foot  up  to  the  point  where  it  was  likelier  to  be  safe. 
He  couldn't  risk  another  pang  just  then. 

"  He's  learning  to  drive,"  said  John,  speaking  fast  to 
get  the  emotional  part  of  it  over.  For  he  was  afraid  he 
should  have  to  persuade  and  show  grandsir  how  tremen 
dously  he  wanted  something  of  his  own,  something  that 
might  not  seem  to  be  as  selfish  as  it  really  was. 

"  You  see  Allan  wants  to  get  into  the  ambulance  corps 
and  over  to  France  as  soon  as  they'll  let  him.  And, 
grandsir !  Now  wait  —  don't  speak  —  think  it  over  —  I 
want  to  apply  for  the  place.  I'm  crazy  to  have  you  take 
me  on." 

Grandsir  could  not  speak  at  once,  and  the  two  didn't 
look  at  each  other.  But  when  he  did  speak  John  heard 
the  difference  in  his  voice  —  it  had  warmed  up,  John 
thought  —  and  he  saw  grandsir  had  liked  it. 

"  Peel  off  my  clothes  and  chuck  me  into  my  bath  and 
put  me  on  my  tummy  in  your  lap,  like  a  decrepit  old  baby, 
to  be  dried  off?  "  said  grandsir.  "  And  then  get  me  into 
my  crib  and  give  me  my  bottle  in  the  middle  of  the  night 
and  say  'There!  there!'  when  I  have  a  legs-ache?  You 
don't  know,  old  man,  what  you'd  have  to  go  through." 

"  Oh,  but  I'd  love  it,"  said  John.  He  was  speaking  out 
because  grandsir  was  meeting  him  so  charmingly,  wasn't 
batting  him  over  the  head  and  telling  him  he'd  be  no  good 
anyway.  "  I'd  just  adore  it.  I  don't  know  anything  I'd 
like  better.  And  I'd  be  as  mum  as  a  fish  when  your  legs 
ached.  I'd  laugh,  though.  You're  awful  funny,  grandsir. 
when  they  ache  and  you  swear  at  'em.  I  don't  believe 
anybody's  ever  told  you  that,  but  you  are  —  funny  as 
frogs." 

"  No,"  said  grandsir  mildly,  "  I  don't  believe  I  actually 
knew  how  funny  I  am  on  such  occasions.  Well,  we'll 


THE   BLACK   DROP  143 

see  what  we'll  do.  Anyhow  we'll  send  Allan  off  all  right 
on  his  adventure.  But  I  guess  we  can  find  another  nurse 
for  the  old  baby  that  isn't  so  valuable  as  you  are.  You 
know,  John,  you've  got  more  or  less  of  a  brain." 

"  Oh,  what's  that  matter?  What's  the  odds,  so  long 
as  you  can't  do  a  thing  with  your  legs  and  arms  and  eyes 
when  that's  what  they  want  now.  You  know,  a  while  ago 
I  got  it  into  my  head  I  could  learn  to  fly." 

"  You  can't,"  said  grandsir,  in  a  finality  that  did  not 
seem  to  be  a  question,  but  an  answer  of  itself. 

"  No,  I  was  turned  down.  Evidently  there's  something 
about  me  that  prevents  my  standing  on  my  head  or  even 
running  an  ambulance.  I  call  it  rotten  luck." 

"  You'll  be  stronger  as  you  grow  older,"  said  grandsir. 
"  I've  always  felt  that." 

"  Thunder !  but  I  want  to  be  stronger  now,"  said  John. 
"It's  now  they  want  us.  There's  Charles —  he's  tough 
as  a  horse.  But  would  he  go  over  to  France?  Not  if 
you  blew  him  out  of  a  gun.  No,  sir.  He'll  stay  right 
here  and  make  money." 

"  Charles  goes  the  pace,  though.  If  he  doesn't  look 
sharp  he'll  break  down.  Charles  drinks." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  believe  he  kicks  over  the  traces,  once  in 
an  age.  He  takes  his  glass  now  and  then,  but  that's  only 
to  buck  him  up  for  the  scariest  of  his  deals." 

"  Nevertheless,"  said  grandsir,  "  he's  going  a  pretty 
pace.  He  lives  a  kind  of  melodrama,  you  see,  a  sort  of 
detective  play  —  it  takes  it  out  of  you  like  the  deuce. 
He's  keyed  up  all  the  time.  We're  a  nervous  lot,  we 
Tracy s.  If  it  hadn't  been  for  apple  trees,  I  should  have 
come  out  worse  than  I  have." 

"  Now  I  wonder,"  said  John  admiringly,  "  just  how 
you  know  so  much  about  what's  going  on.  You  sit  up 


144  THE   BLACK   DROP 

here  and  make  charts  of  orchards,  and  you  find  out  more 
than  all  the  rest  of  us  put  together.  I  bet  there's  one 
thing  you  don't  know." 

"  No  takers,"  said  grandsir.  "  I  bet  there's  ten.  What 
is  it?" 

"  I  bet  you  don't  know  what  Charles  has  done  to  the 
Voice." 

"What  has  he?" 

"  You  know  its  old  policy  was  to  be  continued.  And 
you  remember  what  a  decent  paper  it  was.  Well,  Charles 
has  turned  it  into  an  old  maid's  tea-party." 

"  He'll  knock  his  circulation  galley-west." 

"  Oh,  no,  he  won't.  The  pacifists  are  all  taking  it,  and 
the  pro-Germans  are  licking  it  up  like  cream.  Don't  you 
see  how  he's  cracking  up  a  tranquil  America  and  pitching 
into  the  civilisations  of  the  world,  and  preaching  the 
gospel  of  persuasion?  And  how  he's  taking  the  heart 
right  out  of  us. — 

"  Not  you,  John,"  said  grandsir.  "  He  hasn't  taken 
the  heart  out  of  you." 

"  No,  by  jinks !  But  he'd  like  to  mighty  well,  only  he 
knows  I'm  on  to  him.  But  don't  you  see  what  he's  doing? 
He's  holding  us  back.  He's  preaching  delay,  and  he's 
doing  it  with  such  horrid  cleverness  you  can't  put  your 
finger  on  him." 

"Well,"  said  grandsir,  "you  think—  '  he  hesitated 
for  John  to  fill  in  the  pause. 

"  He's  pro-German.     That's  what  I  think." 

"  Oh,  I  can't  believe  that.  He's  no  reason  to  scavenge 
for  Germany." 

"  She's  bought  him,  that's  all.  Charles  has  just  as 
surely  been  bought  as  any  of  their  spies." 

"What    about   your   Brennan?     What   about   Bailey? 


THE    BLACK    DROP  145 

Their  work's  red-hot,  as  bad  as  yours.  Charles  wouldn't 
have  bought  them  for  the  paper  if  he  meant  to  tone 
it  down." 

"  How  many  cartoons  of  Brennan's  has  he  published? 
How  much  of  Finch's  stuff  or  Bailey's?  Well,  how  much? 
Not  a  line.  They  must  have  been  handing  in  stuff  right 
along.  That  was  the  bargain.  Charles  has  simply 
chucked  it." 

"  Why  don't  you  ask  them  about  it  —  ask  'em  what  he 
says?  " 

"  Ask  'em?  "  said  John.  "  I  wouldn't  be  found  dead 
with  'em.  They  knew  perfectly  well  what  Charles  is  and 
they  let  him  go  and  buy  'em  in  the  open  market.  Or 
anyway,  if  they  didn't  know,  they  were  bally  fools  and 
that's  just  as  bad.  It's  criminal." 

"  Oh,  they  mightn't  have  found  anything  against  him. 
You  know  yourself  what  a  charmer  Charles  is  when  he 
wants  anything." 

"  Now,  grandsir,  don't  you  go  to  whitewashing  Charles, 
same  as  father  does,  just  to  keep  the  family  together. 
Say,  grandsir,  ain't  the  family  a  funny  bunch  ?  As  a  firm,  I 
mean,  a  working  proposition.  When  one  of  'em  queers  the 
pitch  and  still  keeps  up  a  big  bluff  to  make  things  go,  you've 
got  to  pretend  you're  taken  in  by  it.  Rotten,  I  call  it." 

"  Families  are  peculiar,"  said  grandsir.  "  I've  often 
thought  that.  But  I  dare  say  the  thing  couldn't  go  on 
any  other  way." 

"  There's  Charles  now ;  Charles  is  an  outlaw.  He's 
no  more  like  the  rest  of  us  than  if  a  German  stork  had 
brought  him  over  and  dropped  him  down  the  chimney. 
And  we  all  know  it,  but  not  one  of  us'll  tell  the  truth 
about  him.  Except  me.  I  will.  Even  Helen  won't. 
She  leaves  him,  but  she'd  be  sand-bagged  before  she'd  tell 


146  THE   BLACK   DROP 

us  what  she  left  him  for.     Hold  on !      Somebody's  coming. 
It's  a  swish.     I  bet  it's  Helen  herself." 

He  got  up  and  went  to  the  door,  and  grandsir,  too,  got 
up,  proudly  conscious  of  being  found  standing  on  his 
feet  and  also  smiling  at  himself  for  the  childishness  of  it. 
But  it  was  not  Helen.  It  was  Jessie,  serious,  her  brows 
knitted,  and  coming  in  hesitatingly  as  if  not  quite  sure 
whether  she  ought  to  be  there  at  all.  Indeed,  she  was  so 
different  from  her  usual  gay  self  that  John  asked  at 
once  what  was  the  matter  and  grandsir  listened  with  an 
intent  concern.  Something,  they  thought  at  once,  had 
happened  to  Helen. 

"  I  suppose  I  oughtn't  to  have  come  in  this  way,"  she 
said.  She  took  the  chair  grandsir  indicated  and  threw 
back  her  fur  with  a  definitive  air  that  seemed  to  say  she 
was  here  to  talk  something  over  and  must  stay  until  it  was 
done.  "  I  mean,  I  stole  Helen's  key.  I  didn't  ring.  Was 
Helen  here  last  night?  " 

"  Not  up  here,"  said  grandsir,  taking  his  chair  again 
and  glad  to  get  it.  "  I  didn't  hear  she  came  at  all." 

"  Why,  no,"  said  John,  "  mother'd  have  said  so." 

Then  Jessie  told  the  story  of  Helen's  coming  home: 
first  of  her  own  coming  and  finding  Helen's  note,  saying 
she  was  going  over  to  the  house  because  Mr.  Tracy  had 
telephoned  and  asking  Jessie  not  to  come.  And  then 
of  her  terror  and  the  state  she  had  been  in  all  day, 
apprehensive,  quiet,  watching  from  the  window. 

"  I've  come  out  now  to  mail  a  letter,"  said  Jessie. 
"  That's  what  I  told  her.  But  I  went  into  the  kitchen  and 
asked  Hannah  to  be  sure  she  doesn't  see  anybody  while 
I'm  gone.  Mr.  Tracy,  what  frightened  her  last  night? 
What  could  have  frightened  her,  and  what's  kept  her 
frightened  all  day?  " 


THE    BLACK   DROP  147 

"  Ask  her,"  said  grandsir. 

"Ask  her!  I  should  think  I  did  ask  her.  But  ask 
Helen !  All  she  says  is  to  tell  me  not  to  remind  her  of 
it.  And  I  said,  '  But  Helen,  you  were  frightened.'  And 
then  she  said,  '  Yes,  I  was  frightened.'  And  she  looked 
frightened  again." 

"  That  proves  it,"  said  John. 

He  was  standing  beside  her,  his  hands  in  his  pockets, 
and  from  time  to  time  he  took  quick  little  walks  to  the 
window,  as  if  he  couldn't  be  controlled. 

"  Proves  what?  "  asked  Jessie. 

"  Proves  what  did  it.  It  was  Charles.  Helen  isn't 
obstinate  ordinarily.  It's  only  about  Charles.  Now, 
since  she's  left  him,  she's  dumb  as  a  fish." 

Jessie  turned  to  grandsir,  flushed  all  over  her  young 
face. 

"  I  wish  you'd  find  out,  Mr.  Tracy,"  she  said.  "  You 
can  do  it,  perhaps  —  nobody  else.  How  am  I  going  to 
take  care  of  her  if  I  don't  know  what  I've  got  to  save  her 
from?  And  if  she's  frightened  —  it  isn't  like  Helen,  you 
see.  It's  awful."  She  got  up  and  put  on  her  fur  again, 
quickly,  as  if  all  she  could  do  was  done  and  there  was  no 
time  for  deliberation.  "  I  must  go." 

"  I'll  go  with  you,"  said  John.  "  My  hat's  in  the 
hall." 

He  ran  down  and  grandsir  put  out  his  hand  to  Jessie, 
and,  when  she  gave  him  hers,  held  it  for  a  minute  and 
patted  it  with  the  other  delicate  palm. 

"  Sorry,"  he  said.     "  Sorry,  my  dear." 

She  nodded  at  him  and  smiled,  but  he  saw  even  gay 
Jessie  was  shaken  enough  to  cry  a  little  if  she  hadn't 
thought  it  silly.  And  then  she,  too,  went  and  found  John 
downstairs  waiting  for  her.  They  slipped  out  quietly, 


148  THE   BLACK   DROP 

hearing  the  voice  of  the  diners  in  an  animated  disorder, 
and  John  said : 

"  I  left  you  with  grandsir  on  purpose.  I  thought  you'd 
want  to  see  him  alone.  Everybody  does  when  they're 
in  a  hole." 

"  Yes,"  said  Jessie.  "  If  he'd  only  ask  her,  find  out  and 
tell  me.  What  is  it?  What  frightened  her?  " 

She  stopped  short  and  turned  to  look  at  him  as  if  she 
could  drag  something  out  of  him  the  sooner. 

"  Charles,  I  tell  you,"  said  John. 

And  they  went  on. 

"  How  could  he  frighten  her?  He  wouldn't —  ?  "  She 
stopped. 

"  Lay  hands  on  her?  "  said  John  violently.  "  Strike 
her?  I  don't  know.  I  don't  know  anything  about 
Charles  —  except  one  thing.  He's  yellow,  all  through, 
yellow." 

He  could  hear  her  catch  her  breath  at  that  and  told 
himself  he  loved  her  for  taking  such  passionate  care  of 
Helen.  She  didn't  seem  now  like  that  rather  brusque, 
boyish  person  she  had  been  that  first  night,  but  another 
self  of  Helen,  strangely  like  her  and  yet  different, 
subservient  to  her  beauties,  born  to  guard  them.  They 
had  turned  the  corner,  and  she  stopped. 

"  See  that  man  up  there,"  she  said.  "  Just  above  my 
number.  He  was  there  when  I  came  out,  walking  up  and 
down.  Could  it  be  —  ?  " 

"Charles?     Come  on.     We'll  see  if  it  is." 

"  No,"  said  Jessie.  "  I'd  rather  be  alone.  If  he  sees 
you  coming,  he'll  go  along." 

"Let  him.  I'll  follow  him.  If  it's  Charles,  if  he's 
waiting  for  Helen  — 

"  Then  come  behind  me,"  said  Jessie,  "  quite  a  little  way 


THE   BLACK   DROP  149 

behind.  I'll  look  straight  at  him.  I  want  to  know.  And 
if  he  saw  you  and  made  off  you  couldn't  — 

"  I  couldn't  sprint,"  said  John  bitterly,  "  with  a  game 
leg.  Right.  Go  ahead." 

She  went  on  up  the  hill  and  the  man  turned  as  she 
approached  him  and  walked  slowly  in  advance  of  her.  But 
Jessie  quickened  her  steps,  almost  running  lightly,  and 
passed  him.  She  seemed  about  to  turn  a  corner,  wheeled 
and  came  back  facing  him,  looking  at  him  squarely.  It 
wasn't  Charles,  quite  evidently,  but  there  was  something 
familiar  about  the  pale  face  under  the  electric  light, 
the  large  nose  and  square  chin.  Jessie  walked  up  to 
him. 

"  You've  been  hanging  about  our  door,"  she  said. 
"  What  are  you  doing  it  for?  Why,  it's  Cross!  " 

Cross  took  off  his  hat  and  stood  holding  it,  with  a  sort 
of  sad  dignity. 

"  Yes,  Miss  Jessie,"  he  said,  in  his  old  tone  of  humble 
propriety.  "  Can  I  do  anything  for  you?  " 

John  came  up  and  also  halted,  not  speaking. 

"  But,"  said  Jessie  —  "  John,  this  is  Cross,  you  know." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  John.  "  I  know  Cross.  You  were 
watching  the  house.  What  for?  " 

"  I  saw  Mrs.  Tracy  out  alone  last  night,"  said  Cross, 
with  an  unshattered  dignity.  "  It  didn't  seem  to  me  quite 
safe.  If  anybody  spoke  to  her,  it  might  be  a  little  awk 
ward.  So,  as  I've  time  on  my  hands,  I  thought  I'd  hang 
about  in  case  madam  was  out  alone,  and  perhaps  I  could 
overlook  her,  as  you  might  say,  and  make  sure  she  wasn't 
annoyed." 

"  Was  she  annoyed  last  night?  "  asked  John.  "  Where 
was  she  when  you  saw  her?  " 

"  Oh,"  said  Cross  easily,  "  just  walking  up  the  hill  the 


150  THE    BLACK   DROP 

same  as  Miss  Jessie  here.  But  it  struck  me  it  would  be 
safer  to  hang  about  a  little  and  make  sure." 

"  You're  a  good  soul,  Cross,"  said  Jessie.  "  But  what 
do  you  mean  about  having  time  on  your  hands?  Aren't 
you  on  duty  this  evening?  " 

"  No,  miss,"  said  Cross,  "  I  am  not  with  Mr.  Tracy  at 
present." 

"Oh,  ho!"  said  John.     "How  long  since?" 

"  Not  very  long,"  said  Cross.  "  And  having  a  little 
time  on  my  hands  —  good  night,  Miss  Jessie.  Good  night, 
sir." 

"  We'll  look  out  for  her,  Cross,"  Jessie  called  after  him, 
as  he  turned  away  up  the  hill.  "  She  sha'n't  go  out  alone." 

"  Thank  you,  miss,"  said  Cross,  and  took  on  a  quicker 
gait. 

"  Funny,"  said  John,  as  they  walked  their  few  steps 
back  to  Jessie's  door.  "  What's  Charles  want  to  get  rid  of 
him  for?  He's  the  incarnation  of  British  pomp.  Charles 
can't  have  set  up  a  private  detective  bureau,  can  he? 
Cross,  I  mean,  Cross  shadowing  Helen.  And  being  dis 
missed  a  put-up  job?  He  can't  be  in  Charles's  pay?  " 

"  Cross?  "  said  Jessie.  "  Heavens,  no!  Where's  your 
psychology?  Cross  has  stepped  straight  out  of  Trollope. 
If  he's  lost  his  job  he'll  go  back  there  again.  You'll  find 
him  to-morrow  in  one  of  the  volumes  at  the  Athenaeum." 


XV 

NORRIS,  sitting  up  in  his  work-room,  was  reading  the 
Voice.  John  had  brought  him  in  a  file,  dating  from  the 
day  Charles  began  to  run  it,  and  he  was  going  through  it 
with  the  accurate  painstaking  of  the  man  used  to  print. 
And  when  he  had  finished  and  brought  it  up  to  the  present 
day,  he  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  thought  wonderingly 
over  the  power  of  the  written  word.  And  it  seemed  to  him 
most  glorious  and  also  most  pernicious.  For  here  was 
Charles  wielding  a  tremendous  force  and  apparently  all 
for  good,  and  Norris  was  sure  it  wasn't  for  good  but, 
whether  intentionally  or  not,  for  evil.  Men  of  mind  and 
decency  were  pushing  the  administration  toward  war,  and 
Charles  was,  without  one  word  for  which  he  could  be  held 
accountable,  holding  back.  How  was  he  doing  it?  He 
was  dwelling  on  the  enormous  influence  of  an  America  at 
peace,  with  her  powers  untrammeled  for  developing  her 
resources.  He  was  bidding  her  husband  her  resources 
for  the  big  drain  there  would  be  on  them  when  the  war  was 
over.  She  would  be  needed  then  to  rebuild  her  sister  na 
tions.  Perhaps  sending  supplies  to  Europe  now  merely 
kept  weakened  nations  staggering  on  in  the  fight,  when  it 
was  to  their  own  destruction  they  were  going.  Could  they 
be  saved  before  it  was  too  late?  Would  nothing  be  left 
of  beautiful  France  before  the  awful  might  of  Germany? 
Would  the  terrible  monster  paralyze  even  more  mighty 
England?  For  Germany  was  mighty.  She  had  nourished 
herself  on  blood,  she  was  like  the  dragons  of  old,  only  per- 

151 


152  THE    BLACK    DROP 

haps  she  could  not  be  slain.  Perhaps  the  only  campaign 
against  her  was  a  campaign  of  education,  of  enlighten 
ment.  She  had  trained  her  children  to  hate.  If  the 
abominable  slaughter  would  cease,  could  we  persuade  them 
to  understand,  to  love? 

Norris  smiled  a  little,  grimly,  as  he  went  on.  You  would 
have  thought  Charles  was  a  sucking  dove  of  peace  and 
irrational  hope  and  all  the  softer  virtues.  Charles  laid 
great  stress  on  the  might  of  Germany.  What  was  the 
use,  he  asked,  in  many  forms,  of  making  a  useless  struggle 
against  a  power  which  had  eaten  and  drunk  and  slept  war 
for  half  a  century?  Why  not  ignore  the  old  madnesses 
and  learn  whether  Germany  also  could  be  civilized  by  the 
only  methods  that  were  permanent,  ploughshares  and 
pruning  hooks  put  to  their  legitimate  use?  Charles  saw 
a  roseate  America  sitting  up  in  the  clouds  counseling  her 
sister  states,  and  able  to  hold  her  dizzy  height  not  because 
she  had  won  a  stage  apotheosis  through  the  triumph  of 
virtuous  deeds,  but  had  been  blown  sky-high  by  the  blast 
of  words.  And  Norris  began  to  see  anew  what  a  terrible 
power  lies  in  the  printed  word.  He  had  always  regarded 
his  own  profession  as  something  that  concerned  himself 
alone.  His  aptitude  for  words  was  something  to  have  fun 
with,  he  might  have  said  in  his  lightest  moments,  some 
thing  to  earn  your  living  from,  if  you  were  clever  enough, 
but  really  a  tricksy  companion,  by  the  hearth  to-day,  to 
morrow  off  into  the  open.  But  as  there  had  been  no  time 
like  this  time  of  war,  so  it  had  brought  out  values  obscured 
by  the  dust  of  every  day.  Here  were  the  newspapers  giv 
ing  the  people  the  one  chance  of  being  heard,  and  at  the 
same  time  pushing  on  the  laggards  in  power  to  the  only 
logical  outcome  of  Germany's  insolence.  They  were  the 
only  weapon  the  people  had  left,  and  in  the  main  they  were 


THE   BLACK   DROP  153 

sane  and  valiant  and  he  thanked  God  for  them.  But  here 
was  another  sort  of  newspaper,  and  behind  it  was  Charles 
who  also  had  the  right  of  free  speech,  so  long  as  he  made  it 
innocent  enough  to  avoid  condemnation.  And  Charles, 
Norris  knew  in  his  soul,  was  not  straight.  But  the  reading 
world  didn't  know  that.  He  could  sit  hidden  behind  the 
obscurity  of  the  editorial  cloud  and  direct  his  printing 
presses  to  spread  poison  broadcast,  and  the  poison  was 
sweet  to  the  taste,  and  what  should  the  world  know? 

And  while  he  thought,  John  came  to  his  door,  hesitating 
lest  father  should  be  at  work,  and  yet  curious  to  find  out 
what  he  thought  of  the  Voice.  Norris  threw  down  the 
copy  in  hand  to  the  pile  on  the  floor  and  nodded  at  him, 
and  John  came  in  and  leaned  on  the  mantel  and  waited  for 
his  father  to  speak.  Yet  Norris  seemed  to  make  his  shot 
rather  wide  of  the  mark. 

"  I  sometimes  wish,"  he  said,  "  printing  never'd  been  in 
vented." 

"Pretty  bad,  isn't  it?"  John  inquired  dispassionately. 

"  Yes,  mighty  bad  for  anybody  that  sees  through  it. 
And  that's  the  devil  of  it.  Not  one  in  ten  will  see.  The 
old  ladies  —  men  and  women  —  will  think  it's  great  stuff. 
Why,  I've  had  proof  of  that  in  the  last  three  days.  You 
know  I  went  to  read  for  that  benefit.  Some  of  'em  came 
up  and  congratulated  me  on  what  Charles  was  doing  for 
the  Voice.  They  said  he  had  vision." 

"  Vision  !  "  said  John.     "  Charles  !  vision  nothing !  " 

Then  Norris,  like  his  father,  remembered  the  gang  and 
also  that  he  hadn't  found  a  trace  of  them  in  the  file. 

"  I  thought  he'd  bought  them,"  he  said.  "  That's  what 
you  were  rowing  about." 

"  He  has  bought  'em,"  said  John.  "  And  I  begin  to  see 
his  hand." 


154  THE    BLACK    DROP 

"Well?" 

"  He  has  their  entire  output.  If  it's  to  the  detriment 
of  Germany  he's  going  to  hold  it  up  —  not  publish  it,  you 
see.  That  chokes  'em  off  everywhere." 

Norris,  in  an  irrepressible  uneasiness,  confronted  his 
son.  The  deep  red  that  ran  into  his  face  looked  like 
anger.  But  John  wasn't  quelled.  He  knew  if  it  were 
anger  there  was  also  a  mixture  of  sharp  alarm  in  it,  ap 
prehension,  and  for  his  other  son.  But  Norris  got  hold 
of  himself,  turned  away  and  took  refuge  in  the  act  of  the 
embarrassed  natural  man  and  kicked  the  fire. 

"  Well,"  he  said  when  he  turned  back,  with  an  effort  at 
ease,  "  perhaps  you'll  tell  me  how  a  man  with  a  reasonable 
head  for  business  —  Charles  is  pretty  keen — how  he  can 
bring  himself  to  squander  the  salary  of  three  men  in  order 
to  throw  away  their  work  with  it." 

"  Charles  may  not  have  to  stint  himself,"  said  John. 
"  Presumably  he's  got  backers." 

"Who  are  they?" 

"  I  don't  know.  But  whoever  they  are,  they  represent 
Germany." 

"  John !  "  Norris  threw  it  at  him  in  an  exaggerated 
protest,  to  recall  him  to  the  magnitude  of  what  he  implied. 

"  I  know  it,"  said  John  obstinately.  "  You  think  it's 
awful  to  be  bought  up  by  Germany  and  more  awful  because 
it's  one  of  us.  But  fellows  are  being  bought  up  every 
day.  Some  of  'em  know  it  and  some  of  'em  don't.  Charles 
knows  it." 

Norris  turned  back  to  the  fire.  He  said  nothing,  and 
John,  swept  by  one  of  the  waves  that  took  him  off  his  feet, 
when  he  wondered  why  the  world  couldn't  be  different  and 
be  quick  about  it,  found  an  indignant  question  tumbling 
from  him : 


THE   BLACK   DROP  155 

"Dad,  what's  the  matter  with  families  anyway?" 

"Matter?"  Norris  turned,  relieved  at  least  that  some 
thing  impersonal  could  draw  them  away  from  Charles  un 
til  he  had  time  to  think  things  over.  "With  families?  " 

"  It's  a  kind  of  bluff,"  said  John,  fretting  himself  by 
formulating.  "  Everybody's  pretending  everybody's  bet 
ter  than  he  is,  so  as  to  make  him  better.  Nobody'll  say 
exactly  what  he  thinks  for  fear  of  hurting  something.  I 
don't  know  that  we  are  so  afraid  of  hurting  one  another. 
We're  afraid  of  hurting  the  great  family  god  that's  set 
up  in  the  midst  of  us  —  tumbling  him  down  and  cracking 
him.  Now  we  all  know  exactly  how  Charles  is  likely  to 
act  in  a  given  situation,  and  yet  we  never  assume  he'd  act 
so.  When  he  comes  in,  we  butter  him  all  over,  if  he's  good, 
and  when  he  isn't  we're  sort  of  bruised  and  get  over  it  the 
best  way  we  can." 

"  Well,"  said  Norris,  "  what  would  you  recommend  ?  " 

He  spoke  with  a  grave  interest,  and  John  saw  he  wasn't 
being  chaffed  and  answered  at  once : 

"  I  should  treat  him  like  an  outlaw.  He  is  one.  He 
doesn't  care  a  hang  for  any  known  rule  that  holds  the 
whole  blooming  show  together,  and  when  he  wants  to  break 
one  he  does.  And  we  never  act  as  if  he'd  done  it.  We 
say,  '  Come  in  and  take  a  chair.' ': 

"Well,  what  should  we  say?  No,  I  mean  it.  I  want 
your  point  of  view." 

"We  should  say:  sOh,  come  off.  You've  just  been 
mixed  up  in  a  dirty  deal  in  the  market.  You  smell  of  it. 
Get  out.  Come  back  when  you've  thrown  your  loot  into 
the  Charles  and  had  a  Turkish  bath.'  Or,  this  is  what 
I'd  say:  'You've  sold  yourself  to  Germany,  haven't  you? 
Go  give  yourself  up  to  the  D.  of  J.  or  we'll  do  it  for 
you.'" 


156  THE   BLACK   DROP 

"What's  the  D.  of  J.?  " 

"  Department  of  Justice." 

"Heroic  methods,"  said  Norris.  But  he  didn't  say  it 
satirically.  "  You've  evidently  cast  me  for  the  role  of 
the  Roman  father." 

"  I  told  grandsir  I  didn't  believe  in  families,"  said  John, 
and  then  stopped.  He  wasn't  going  to  repeat  any  one  of 
grandsir's  replies  and  have  it  discussed  openly  in  family 
council  afterward  and  perhaps  get  back  to  grandsir's  ears. 
He  had  an  inside  track,  he  felt ;  that  last  time  he  had  gone 
further,  an  inch  or  two,  into  grandsir's  inner  mind,  and 
he  wasn't  going  to  lose  his  chance  by  sharing  it.  But  he 
had  got  his  father's  attention  now. 

"  You  did,"  said  Norris.    "  Now  what  did  grandsir  say  ?  " 

"  That's  telling,"  remarked  John. 

"  Oh,  come !  but  wait  a  bit.  Here's  your  mother.  See 
what  she  says  about  families."  Emily  was  passing  on  one 
of  her  noiseless  trips  about  the  house.  "  Emily  !  " 

She  came  to  the  door  and  stood  there,  inquiring,  sweet, 
in  her  readiness  for  any  appeal  from  her  men  children. 
John,  looking  at  her,  was  struck,  as  he  was  a  dozen 
times  a  day,  in  his  impetuous  fashion,  with  the  beauty 
of  her. 

"  Say,  mum,"  he  asked,  "  what  makes  you  look  like  a 
madonna  ?  " 

"  It's  her  blue  dress,"  said  Norris  practically,  "  and  the 
white  top  and  sleeves.  There !  that's  family  candor. 
How  do  you  like  it  ?  Emily,  John's  been  telling  me  he  has 
a  new  idea.  He  says  families  don't  tell  each  other  the 
truth." 

"Don't  they?"  asked  Emily,  frowning  a  little  as  she 
noted  a  finger  mark  on  the  door  and  charged  herself  to 
remember  it.  "Maybe  not." 


THE   BLACK   DROP  157 

"  He  says,"  Norris  continued,  "we  ought  to  keep  jump 
ing  on  each  other  for  our  faults — little  ones  like  my  get 
ting  ashes  round  —  and  when  we've  done  anything  really 
bad,  have  in  the  police." 

Emily  was  turning  away.  She  realized  this  was  one  of 
the  times  when  the  family  was  talking  nonsense,  and  she  had 
things  to  do.  But  she  usually  had  a  word  in  readiness. 

"  John'll  know,"  said  she,  "  when  he's  married." 

"  Aha  !  that's  the  answer,"  said  Norris.  He  felt  at  once 
lightened  and  relieved.  "  I  knew  there  was  an  answer,  but 
I  didn't  know  what  page  'twas  on.  That's  it.  You'll 
know  when  you're  married." 

"  Married !  "  John  threw  out,  in  the  scorn  of  the  untram- 
meled. 

But  Emily  was  calling  from  the  floor  below: 

"  Here's  Charles.     He's  coming  up." 

And  John,  in  the  moment  before  Charles  appeared,  had 
time  to  think  here  was  another  example  of  the  family  per 
fidy  in  making  things  go.  Charles  had  kissed  mother, 
he  was  sure,  and  she  hadn't  told  him  to  wait  and  explain 
his  behavior  in  the  Voice  before  he  could  be  permitted 
filial  privileges.  John  was  as  old  as  youth  in  his  clever 
ness,  but  young  as  youth  in  his  rebellions.  And  here  was 
Charles,  fresh,  smiling,  ready  to  be  responsive  to  the  family 
tradition,  and  Norris  grinned  at  himself  ruefully  for  his 
sneaking  relief  that  Charles  was  luckily  in  a  good  frame  of 
mind.  There  wouldn't  be  any  bone  to  worry.  But  he 
hadn't  reckoned  on  John,  who,  for  mischief's  sake  at  least, 
was  going  to  be  as  good  as  his  implied  word. 

"  Well,  Charles,"  said  he,  on  his  way  to  the  door,  to 
make  instant  exit  when  his  bolt  was  sped,  "  you've  been 
going  the  pace,  haven't  you?  Insulting  Helen  and  getting 
yourself  bought  by  Germany." 


158  THE    BLACK    DROP 

He  walked  quietly  out,  but  even  at  the  moment  he  was 
sorry  he  had  elected  to  go,  he  did  so  want  to  see  how 
Charles  looked.  But  Norris  was  seeing  how  he  looked  and 
he  was  appalled.  For  the  instant  his  own  heart  fell  with 
a  thump,  it  was  so  horribly  certain  the  shot  had  told. 
Charles,  coming  in  with  the  fresh  color  of  his  walk  upon 
him,  was  white  as  yellow-white  paper.  He  stood  there 
looking  down  at  his  feet,  his  lips  put  tight  together  as  if  he 
had  to  have  some  slight  physical  stimulus  of  holding  him 
self  firm.  They  stood  there  a  full  minute,  Norris  staring 
at  him,  unwillingly,  but  because  it  seemed  a  necessity  to 
inform  himself  of  everything  possible  about  his  son. 
Then,  as  Charles  threw  off  the  cloud,  laughed  shortly  and 
sat  down,  Norris,  spurred,  he  felt  angrily,  by  John's  in 
visible  influence,  asked  him : 

"  What  does  he  mean  by  saying  you've  annoyed  Helen?  " 

"  Haven't  the  faintest  idea,"  said  Charles,  now  return 
ing  his  father's  glance  with  an  open  one.  "What's  he 
said  to  you?  " 

"  Nothing  —  about  Helen." 

"  Well,"  said  Charles,  "  if  he  knows  anything  about 
Helen's  present  frame  of  mind,  I  wish  he'd  tell  me.  I 
don't." 

"  Charles,"  said  Norris,  bursting  into  what  he  felt  might 
be  considered  his  duty  and  hating  it  all  tremendously, 
"  what's  this  about  the  Voice?  " 

"  What  about  it?     Something  John's  been  getting  up?  " 

"  I've  looked  the  paper  over  myself.  I  don't  —  He 
paused.  What  should  he  say?  The  Voice  was  irre 
proachable  and  the  best  of  women  declared  Charles  had 
vision. 

"  Don't  like  it  ?  Well,  I  won't  say  I've  managed  to  get 
precisely  the  right  note  yet.  But  I  shall." 


THE   BLACK   DROP  159 

"  I  don't  find  anything  of  Bailey's  or  Finch's  or  Bren- 
nan's." 

"  Oh,  they'll  come  later.  I  had  a  lot  of  stuff  to  work 
off.  Some  of  the  old  staff.  I  don't  mean  to  keep  'em  on, 
but  I've  got  to  give  'em  time  to  look  round  a  little.  Only 
decent,  you  know." 

Yes,  it  was  only  decent.  Everything  looked  so  simple, 
so  above-board,  when  Charles  presented  it  to  you.  Norris 
didn't,  in  his  soul,  trust  him  in  the  least  when  he  had  a 
reason  for  dodging;  but  it  is  difficult  to  suspect  a  man  in 
a  particular  instance  when  he  comes  to  you  with  shining 
morning  face,  even  if  the  face  does  grow  yellow  under  in 
sult  and  only  regains  the  shine  after  a  delay. 

"  I  suppose  John's  been  stuffing  you,"  said  Charles 
wearily.  "John's  a  kid.  He  reads  fairy  tales  and 
fastens  'em  on  me.  I  wish  he  wouldn't.  It  makes  me 
tired.  But  I  can't  go  into  that.  Fact  is,  I  came  round 
to  ask  you  if  you'd  give  me  the  key  to  Grasslands." 

"  Grasslands?  "  Norris  was  immensely  surprised. 

"  Yes.     I'm  going  to  ask  you  to  hand  the  place  over  to 
me  this  winter  and  keep  mum  about  it  to  mother,  John  — 
and  grandsir.     The  whole  push.     I'd  like  to  be  able  to  run 
down  there  when  I  feel  like  it,  and  I  don't  want  any  living 
soul  —  but  you  —  to  know  why.     Fact  is,  I'm  not  very  fit." 

"What's  the  matter,  Charies?"  asked  Norris.  "Wor 
ried?" 

"  Yes.  I'm  infernally  worried  about  Helen.  She  won't 
come  back  to  me,  she  won't  see  me,  and  it's  wearing  on  me 
like  the  devil.  I  can't  sleep,  that's  the  truth  of  it,  and  I 
want  to  keep  Grasslands  open,  put  in  a  man  and  a  woman, 
and  have  it  so  I  can  run  down  any  time  I  like  and  see  if  I 
can  get  a  night's  rest." 

"Seen  a  doctor?" 


160 

"Yes." 

"What'dhesay?" 

"  Says  I'm  evidently  done  up  —  worry  —  business 
worry,  he  assumes.  I  haven't  told  him.  He  prescribes 
the  country." 

"  Of  course  you  can  have  Grasslands,"  said  Norris. 
"  But  you'd  better  let  me  tell  your  mother." 

"  That's  precisely  what  I  can't  stand.  I'm  on  edge. 
Don't  you  see  I'm  on  edge?  " 

Norris  understood  perfectly.  He  had  been  on  edge 
himself  more  than  once  when  he  couldn't  bear  the  touch  of 
human  sympathy.  Except  Emily's:  but  that  amounted 
to  no  more  than  a  silent  knowledge  of  his  plight. 

"You  know,"  he  ventured,  "your  mother's  different." 

"  I  know  she's  different,"  said  Charles.  "  But  you  take 
it  from  me  I've  got  to  work  this  out  alone.  I've  a  man 
and  woman  in  mind." 

"  Who  are  they  —  anybody  down  there?  " 

"No.  Somebody  I  picked  up  through  my  new  butler. 
Cross  is  gone." 

"  Cross  !    What'd  he  go  for?  " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know.  Cross  hasn't  been  the  same  lately. 
But  he's  gone.  Glad  he  has.  He  got  on  my  nerves,  too." 

"  Well,"  said  Norris.  He  felt  vaguely  disconcerted  over 
the  going  of  Cross.  "  Of  course  you  can  have  Grasslands. 
Mind  if  I  run  down  with  you  sometime  when  you're  go 
ing?  " 

"That's  it,"  said  Charles.  He  looked  harassed.  "I 
want  to  go  by  my  lone.  Run  down  in  the  car  after  dark, 
if  the  snow  holds  off.  I  want  to  feel  it's  a  jumping-off 
place,  and  when  I'm  there  I  haven't  got  to  exert  myself 
for  anybody." 

"  Of   course,"   said   Norris,   rather   unreasonably   hurt 


THE    BLACK    DROP  161 

though  he  thought  he  understood  so  perfectly.  "  I  won't 
go  down.  Sure  you've  got  a  reliable  man  and  woman?" 

"  Oh,  sure." 

"  What's  their  name?  " 

"  Weiss." 

"Not  German?" 

"  Oh,  the  name's  German,  but  they've  lived  here  a  gen 
eration  or  so." 

"Where'd  you  get  'em?"  Norris  persisted,  moved  by 
he  hardly  knew  what  solicitude. 

"  A  man  at  the  club,  I've  forgotten  who.  But  their  ref 
erences  are  absolutely  all  right.  New  York  people.  Want 
to  give  me  the  key  now?  " 

Norris  got  up  and  went  to  his  desk  with  a  certain  slow 
thoughtfulness  of  motion.  There  was  absolutely  no  rea 
son  why  Charles,  in  his  need,  should  not  have  the  key  of 
Grasslands  which  was  as  sacred  to  him,  as  a  family  hearth 
stone,  Norris  thought,  as  to  the  rest  of  them.  Yet  he  had  a 
curious  disinclination  to  giving  it  up. 

"  There  it  is,"  he  said.  "  This  one's  the  barn,  this  the 
garage.  You'll  have  to  have  the  water  turned  on,  you 
know,  and  for  Heaven's  sake  look  out  for  the  pipes." 

Charles  thrust  the  keys  into  his  pocket  and  nodded 
assent. 

"And  mind  you  don't  say  a  word,  dad,"  he  adjured  his 
father.  "  That's  really  the  whole  point.  If  it  wasn't  for 
that  I  might  as  well  go  to  a  hotel." 

"  No,"  said  Norris,  "  I  won't.  But  I'd  much  rather, 
you  understand  —  at  least,  your  mother.  She  never'd 
disturb  you." 

"  They'd  be  coming  down,"  said  Charles,  now  at  the 
door.  "  John  would.  All  his  crowd.  Then  the  fat 
really  would  be  in  the  fire.  'Bye." 

M 


XVI 

JOHN  was  as  often  with  Helen  and  Jessie  as  he  could 
artfully  manage.  Though  Helen  had  begun  by  keeping 
to  herself,  not  implicating  the  family,  even  by  asking 
counsel,  she  gave  that  up,  in  large  measure,  because  they 
were  persistent  in  cordiality  and  Jessie  so  eager  to  re 
spond.  John  had  not  had  so  much  fun  in  a  long  time.  He 
could  run  about  with  Jessie,  agree  with  her  professionally, 
fight  her  as  high  spirits  bade,  and  —  bitterest  compensa 
tion  for  his  own  absence  from  the  field  —  draw  her  on  to 
talk  about  France,  that  harsh  adventure  of  hers,  bearing 
her  youth  to  the  perilous  outskirts  of  war ;  and  always 
he  could  count  on  a  little  of  Helen,  perhaps  a  long  even 
ing  of  her  or  at  least  a  minute  for  a  commonplace  yet 
memorable  word.  Jessie,  practically  subservient  to  Helen, 
was  nevertheless,  she  said,  in  all  relations  frankly  jealous 
of  her.  She  was  brazen  in  her  protest,  to  the  amused  tol 
erance  of  Helen,  that  her  sister  wasn't  really  so  remark 
able.  She  wasn't  the  trouble  maker  of  old  Troy,  though 
there  seemed  to  be  an  impression  to  that  effect.  She  was 
no  more  than  a  sound,  sensible,  rather  sweet  —  yes,  very 
sweet  —  person  whose  eyelids  fell  in  an  unexpected  way 
and  whose  mouth  had  tricks  at  the  corners.  Helen  hardly 
listened.  She  went  on  with  what  she  was  doing,  gravely 
absorbed,  often  absurdly  so  in  some  most  inconsiderable 
task,  and  when  the  light  hail  of  chaff  did  fall  persistently 
enough,  waked  out  of  her  absorption  and  threw  in  the  com 
ment  of  a  word,  "  Goose  !  "  it  might  be,  or  "  Silly  BiUy  !  " 

162 


THE    BLACK    DROP  163 

And  the  word  itself,  as  may  be  seen,  was  likely  to  be  of  a 
most  ordinary  nature,  such  as  anybody  can  fish  out  of 
common  talk ;  but  from  her  it  had  the  value  of  piquant 
repartee.  Jessie,  in  this  interval  before  the  relief,  un 
speakably  desired,  of  going  back  to  France,  was  living 
up  to  her  last  limit  of  self-control.  She  must  not  be  curi 
ous,  she  must  not  worry  Helen.  She  must  simply  give 
Helen  the  warmth  and  softness  of  her  breast  and  wings 
until  the  eggs  of  decision  were  duly  hatched.  Yet  there 
was  a  turbulent  happiness  in  it  all.  She  had  Helen  to 
herself  and  John  to  fight  with,  only  she  did  sometimes 
wonder,  in  her  own  humble  mind,  why  he  couldn't  like  her 
at  least  a  little  when  he  liked  Helen  so  much.  She  did 
frankly  delight  in  him,  and  when  he  was  forgetful  of  her, 
sometimes  brusque  and  unregarding,  it  hurt.  Like  other 
tomboys,  Jessie  did  not  wholly  enjoy  being  treated  cav 
alierly.  In  her  heart  she  was  aching  with  compassion  for 
him  because  he  was  lame,  and  that,  now  there  was  such 
need  of  man's  muscle  and  fitness,  made  him,  she  knew, 
"ugly." 

One  night  shortly  after  John's  talk  with  his  father,  he 
rang  and  found  the  sisters  at  their  table,  rather  washed 
out  and  dull,  he  thought,  both  of  them.  It  was  not  inap 
propriate  to  Helen.  Everything  became  her,  pallor  or 
brightness.  Jessie,  he  concluded,  had  better  get  back 
her  shine ;  that  is,  if  she  cared  about  such  things.  He 
rather  thought  she  didn't.  Helen  went  on  folding  com 
presses,  and  Jessie  got  up  to  bring  forward  a  chair  a  little, 
enough  to  give  a  look  of  welcome.  "  Poor  boy !  "  she  was 
thinking.  "  Dear  boy !  I  wonder  if  he's  aching."  For 
John  also  was  not  at  his  best.  Only  his  trouble  was  of 
the  mind.  Behind  Helen's  shoulder  he  held  up  a  card  to 
Jessie.  He  had  written  on  it,  "  I  want  to  see  her  alone." 


164  THE    BLACK   DROP 

Jessie's  rush  of  compassion  ceased.  It  might  have  spurted 
up  in  a  geyser  and  frozen  in  falling  back  on  her,  she  felt 
so  chilled. 

"  Well,  you  won't,"  she  said  viciously,  and  sat  down 
again  to  her  folding. 

"Won't  what?"  Helen  asked. 

"  Smoke,"  said  Jessie.     "  You  don't  want  him  to  either." 

"Smoke?"  said  Helen.  "Of  course  he  can  smoke. 
Was  that  really  it?  Why,  you're  a  rude  little  girl.  See, 
John,  matches  on  that  tray." 

John  seated  himself  by  the  hearth  and  scorned  even  to 
look  at  Jessie,  who  was  nothing,  his  grown-up  manhood 
told  him,  but  a  tomboy  anyway.  And  since  she  was 
blocking  him,  he  would  ignore  her  and  speak  out. 

"Helen,  are  you  afraid  of  Charles?" 

And  saying  it,  he  realized  he  was  mortally  afraid.  He 
couldn't  look  at  her.  He  took  the  tongs  and  clattered 
them  nervously  over  a  stick,  and  the  noise  helped  him  out  a 
little,  though  Jessie  twitched  and  said  crossly : 

"  Don't ! " 

Helen  had  let  her  hands  fall  and  rest  on  the  cloth  she 
was  folding.  She  looked  down  at  them  and  seemed  to 
think.  But  she  wasn't  going  to  resent  the  question.  John, 
glancing  round  at  her  now,  saw  that  and  choked  with 
gratitude. 

"  No,"  she  said  at  length,  as  if  in  grave  consideration, 
"  I  don't  believe  I  am." 

John  put  down  the  tongs  and  thrust  his  hands  into  his 
pockets  because  they  were  trembling  and  that  little  devil  of  a 
Jessie  would,  he  told  himself,  be  sure  to  see  it.  And  now 
he  knew  he  was  in  for  it  and  must  go  on. 

"Hasn't  something  happened,  Helen?"  he  insisted, 
though  timidly.  "  Didn't  you  meet  him  one  night  when 


THE    BLACK    DROP  165 

you  were  coming  over  to  the  house?  Didn't  you  get  a 
scare?  " 

"  I  did  see  him,"  said  Helen,  still  speaking  slowly,  be 
cause  she  had  made  up  her  mind  not  to  admit  any  of  them 
into  the  obscure  recesses  of  her  relations  to  Charles. 
"And  I  was  —  disturbed.  But  that  was  natural,  John. 
Don't  think  about  it." 

"Did  he  speak  to  you?"  John  persisted.  Now  he  was 
not  trembling.  He  felt  sure  of  himself  and  his  right  as 
male  inquisitor. 

"  Yes,"  said  Helen.     "  He  spoke  to  me." 

"What  did  he  say?" 

"  He  wanted  me  to  go  home  with  him."  And  then,  as 
the  remembrance  of  the  persuasion  he  had  used,  that  pass 
word  to  the  old-time  fondnesses,  came  back  to  her,  her 
face  flushed  to  its  deepest  rose  and  she  glanced  at  John 
imploringly,  as  if  begging  him  to  say  no  more.  But 
the  flush  angered  him.  She  looked  divinely  tender,  and 
he  thought  how  unjust  it  was  that  Charles  should  have 
had  the  power  to  call  that  transfiguring  glow  to  her  face, 
should  have  had  it  and  thrown  it  away. 

"  You  were  frightened,"  he  said  doggedly.  "  And  Cross 
knew  it,  cr  he  wouldn't  have  said  what  he  did." 

The  rose  of  tenderness  had  paled.  She  looked  at  him, 
alarmed. 

"What  has  Cross  been  saying?" 

"  We  found  him  outside  here  the  other  night,"  said 
Jessie,  "when  we  came  home."  She  was  deep  in  the  in 
terest  of  the  moment  now ;  there  were  things  Jessie,  too, 
wanted  to  be  assured  of.  "  He  said  he  was  hanging  round 
in  case  you  came  out.  To  see  that  nothing  happened  to 
you.  He  said  you  oughtn't  to  go  out  alone." 

"Oh,    he    mustn't    do    that,"    said    Helen.     "Charles 


166  THE   BLACK   DROP 

wants  him  there,  most  evenings,  anyway.  He'll  be  dis 
charged." 

"  Oh,  he's  been  discharged  all  right,"  said  John. 
"  That  is,  he's  left." 

"Left?  Left  the  house?  Left  Charles?  Oh,  that's 
very  dangerous.  Cross  knows  a  great  deal.  He  must. 
Far  more  than  I  do." 

John  felt  the  force  of  this  admission  like  a  blow.  He 
was  like  the  seeker  who,  on  the  track  of  one  bit  of  fact, 
finds  another  far  more  astounding. 

"  Helen,"  he  said,  "  what  do  you  know  about  Charles  — 
what  in  particular?  There's  something.  It's  what  made 
you  leave  him." 

And  then  he  remembered  that  it  was,  according  to  his 
own  certainty,  Mrs.  Davenport  who  had  made  her  leave 
him,  and  he  stopped,  most  miserable.  Helen  looked  from 
one  to  the  other,  in  a  wretched  questioning.  Jessie  an 
swered  it. 

"  No,"  she  said.  "  I  haven't  been  talking  you  over  in 
any  way  you  wouldn't  like.  Not  one  of  us,  not  a  word." 

"  Then,"  said  John,  "  Jessie  knows.  You've  told  her 
what  you  wouldn't  tell  us.  Helen,  don't  you  think  you 
ought  to  tell  us?  —  grandsir  and  father  and  me  anyway. 
Grandsir'd  know  what  to  do  and  I  could  do  it.  Bet  your 
life  I  would." 

Helen  was  reassured.  John  evidently  knew  nothing.  It 
was  Ins  sweetness  to  her,  his  chivalry,  that  made  him  speak. 

"  John,"  she  said,  "  you're  a  dear."  And  now  the  ten 
derness,  though  without  that  rosy,  ineffable  quality,  was 
his.  "  But  I  can't  talk,  even  to  grandsir.  And  there's 
nothing  to  do,  John,  not  yet.  Just  you  let  me  sit  here 
and  fold  —  and  think  —  and  who  knows  but  I  shall  get 
somewhere?  " 


THE   BLACK    DROP  167 

"  Anyhow  it's  not  fair,"  said  John.  "  That's  what 
grandsir  and  I  said  the  other  night,  and  then  I  repeated 
it  to  father  and  he  didn't  deny  it.  Families  are  the  deuce. 
They're  founded  on  lies  and  they  thrive  on  'em." 

"Actually?"  asked  Helen,  her  eyes  dancing  at  him. 
"  How  are  they  founded  on  lies?  " 

"  In  the  first  place,  they  begin  with  lies.  Men  and 
women  go  crazy  and  talk  poetry  —  and  send  flowers  — 
and  sit  in  the  moonlight,  and  —  oh,  I  don't  know.  1$ 
doesn't  last,  that's  all.  It  won't  wash."  Yet  as  he 
growled  it  out,  he  knew,  in  that  deepest  part  of  him  that 
was  only  lighted  up  at  night  when  you  could  smell  the 
flowers  and  hear  the  music,  that  his  love  for  Helen,  if  he 
had  been  permitted  to  cherish  a  love  beyond  clumsy 
brotherly  service,  would  not  need  washing.  It  was  per 
ennially  cleansed  by  the  dews  of  heaven.  "  And  then  the 
family  goes  right  on  lying.  You've  got  something  against 
Charles,  something  awful.  And  if  you'd  out  with  it  and 
tell  us  —  the  men  of  the  family,  I  mean—  He  was 
pointedly  ignoring  Jessie.  Good  for  her,  he  thought,  if 
Helen  had  already  told  her  things  she  was  keeping  from 
the  rest  of  them.  "  If  you'd  let  us  in,  we  could  do  some- 
tiling,  and  Charles  would  find  himself  up  against  it  —  and 
high  time,  too." 

Helen  had  recovered  her  mobile  calm.  She  was  folding 
her  compresses  and  smiling  a  little  over  them. 

"  I  wonder,"  she  suggested,  "  what  your  mother  would 
say  to  that  idea  of  family  diplomacy." 

"  Oh,  mother !  "  he  exploded.     "  Father  dragged  her  in." 

"What  did  she  say?" 

"What  d'you  expect  her  to  say?  Mother's. the  worst 
of  the  lot.  She  won't  lie,  but  she'll  play  the  hose  on  us 
when  we've  got  into  the  mud  and  make  believe  she's  washed 


168  THE   BLACK   DROP 

us  off,  and  then  she'll  burn  Bengal  lights  and  start  rosy 
glows  so  we  can  keep  on  looking  like  little  angels." 

"Yes,  but  what  did  she  say?"  Helen  insisted,  in  a  de 
mure  mischief.  "  Tell  me,  or  I'll  ask  her." 

"Oh,  she  said," — he  wasn't  going  to  refuse  a  dare  — 
"  wait  till  I'm  married." 

"  Quite  right,"  said  Helen  placidly.  "  Mother's  always 
right." 

But  at  that  moment  John  happened  to  look  at  Jessie, 
and  he  saw  that  her  face  was  suddenly  crimsoned  with  as 
sweet  a  flush  as  Helen's  own.  Only  he  suspected  that 
flush  in  Jessie.  It  must  mean  something  hostile  to  him. 

"  Well,  I  could,  you  know,"  he  said  darkly  to  her.  "  I 
could  marry  if  I  wanted  to.  You  needn't  look  like  that." 

And  Jessie  took  the  challenge,  lifted  her  head  and  gave 
him  one  of  her  defiant  stares.  But  her  eyes  were  differ 
ent,  he  was  curious  to  see.  They  were  suffused  and  beau 
tiful,  and  he  had  his  first  minute  of  wondering  if  she  wasn't 
pretty  after  all.  Not  like  Helen,  only  with  a  curious 
identity  of  charm.  She  was  an  earthly  Helen,  and  the 
real  Helen  belonged  among  the  stars.  But  Jessie  was 
flinging  back  his  dare. 

"  Yes,  do,"  she  said,  "  straight  off.  Only  don't  ask 
her  in  that  voice,  or  you  won't  get  her." 

"  And  don't  fight  any  more,"  said  Helen.  "  You  are 
like  those  figures  that  come  out  of  the  barometer.  Only 
you  don't  appear  one  at  a  time.  You  dart  out  together 
and  run  at  each  other  and  begin  to  squabble." 

"  The  barometer's  out  of  order,"  said  Jessie  sadly. 
"That's  all." 

John  got  up  to  go.  He  felt  defeated  in  his  purpose, 
and  the  only  thing  now  seemed  to  be  a  word  with  grandsir 
and  presenting  some  of  these  half-cock  conjectures  to  him. 


THE   BLACK   DROP  169 

Jessie  put  away  her  work  in  the  quick  orderly  fashion 
she  had  for  it  because  it  was  "  business,"  and  Helen,  fol 
lowing  more  slowly,  looked  up  and  saw  her  then  at  the 
window.  Several  times  Helen  glanced  up  and  found  her 
immovable,  and  when  she  had  laid  away  her  own  work  she 
went  to  the  window  and  put  an  arm  about  Jessie  and  they 
talked  of  the  city  lights.  Presently  Helen  said: 

"  But  I  wish  you  were  married." 

"  Do  you  ?  "  asked  Jessie.     "  After  —  " 

"  Yes,"  Helen  broke  in.  "  After  anything.  Babies ! 
I  wish  we  both  had  babies,  Jess." 

"  Yes,"  said  Jessie,  "  so  do  I." 

And  when  they  turned  back  into  the  room  Helen  saw  her 
lashes  were  bright  with  tears. 


XVII 

JOHN  let  himself  in  and  went  softly  upstairs.  His 
father's  door  might  be  open  and  he  didn't  propose  being 
called  upon  and  losing  a  minute  he  might  have  with  grand- 
sir.  Allan  Lloyd  had  now  gone  and  John  had  not  been 
allowed  to  take  his  place.  A  silent,  deft  young  fellow  had 
been  brought  in  by  the  doctor,  who  had  heard  of  him  as 
studying  intermittently,  according  as  he  got  money, 
with  a  "  crazy  manipulator  named  Landis."  But  the 
boy,  being  strong  and  friendly,  was  a  find  for  grandsir. 
And  John,  now  that  the  routine  of  service  had  been  once 
interrupted,  boldly  pushed  in  and  did  things  himself,  with 
such  anxious  care  that  grandsir  was  profoundly  touched 
and  would  never  have  him  rebuffed.  John  thought  he 
knew  a  lot  more  about  grandsir  than  the  rest  of  the  fam 
ily,  for  he  had  dared  penetrate  the  forbidden  area  and 
"  found  the  old  dear  on  his  back,"  naked  of  that  mantle 
of  ironic  endurance  he  had  wrapped  about  himself :  a  won 
der  of  fortitude,  eaten  up  by  torments  and  smiling  at  his 
plight.  Was  there  a  subtle  bond  between  them  because 
they  both  knew  the  curtailment  of  activities  and  the  stab 
of  pain?  At  least,  neither  acknowledged  it.  They  were 
living  the  same  gay  masquerade,  turning  from  their  demon 
and  letting  him  rage  by  himself,  so  far  as  human  stoicism 
could. 

There  was  a  light  in  Norris's  room,  and  John  still  be- 

170 


THE   BLACK   DROP  171 

lieved  he  could  slip  past  unnoted;  but  at  the  instant  of 
reaching  the  stair-head  he  heard  a  voice  on  the  silence 
within.  It  was  the  voice  of  Charles  and  he  halted  to  lis 
ten.  Everything  Charles  said  just  now  was  likely  to  be 
significant. 

"  Oh,  cut  it  out,  all  that  rent  business.  I  told  you  to 
take  the  house  and  use  it,  —  told  you  so  in  the  beginning." 

"  I  know,"  said  Norris.  "  But  I'd  rather  go  through 
the  form.  Here's  your  check,  boy." 

Then  John  understood  his  father  was  offering  it  in  pay 
ment  of  the  rent  of  this  which  was  Charles's  house. 

"  Besides,"  Norris  went  on,  the  little  indulgent  twist  of 
humor  in  his  voice,  "  you  insisted  on  its  being  only  nominal, 
so  it  doesn't  matter  much  either  way." 

"  Except,"  said  Charles,  "  you'll  have  to  let  me  do  the 
same.  For  Grasslands.  See? " 

"  No,"  said  his  father.  "  That's  quite  another  thing. 
Grasslands  belongs  to  us  all.  Been  down  lately?  " 

They  had  the  sound  of  settling  to  their  talk. 

"  Yes,"  said  Charles,  "  once." 

"Sleep  better  there?" 

"  Yes.     Can't  tell  you  what  a  difference  it  made." 

"  Got  your  man  and  woman  in?  " 

"  Oh,  yes.  Soon  as  we  had  our  talk.  And  by  the 
way  — "  Charles  became  impressive.  This,  John  saw, 
was  important.  "  I'm  going  down  Wednesday  for  the 
night.  Don't  let  any  of  'em  bolt  in  on  me,  will  you?  " 

"Any  of  'em?" 

"The  family  —  mother,  John  —  John  especially." 

"  Why,  no,  I  told  you  I  wouldn't,"  said  Norris.  "  Told 
you  so  in  the  first  place.  Nobody's  any  idea  of  going." 

John  turned  and  retreated  down  the  stairs.  He  had 
doubts  of  getting  past  to  grandsir's  room  unheard.  More 


172  THE   BLACK   DROP 

than  that,  he  wasn't  sure  he  wanted  to  present  grandsir 
with  the  floating  particles  of  surmise  he  had  collected  at 
Helen's.  He  thought  it  might  be  better,  on  reflection,  to 
mull  over  them  himself.  And  when,  from  the  library,  he 
heard  Charles  go  out  at  the  front  door,  he  was  tempted  to 
run  up  and  say  to  his  father :  "  What  does  it  mean  about 
his  going  to  Grasslands?  Yes,  I  listened.  Of  course  I  did. 
What's  Charles  up  to?  "  But  he  abandoned  this,  too,  and 
decided  that  if  Charles  didn't  want  him  at  Grasslands  on 
Wednesday  night,  there  he  would  be.  It  was  all  poppycock 
about  not  sleeping.  Charles  looked  perfectly  fit,  though 
any  mole  but  father  could  see  he  was  drinking  too  much. 
Who  was  going  down  to  Grasslands  with  him?  Mrs. 
Davenport?  If  it  was  that  sort  of  ignominy,  somebody 
ought  to  know,  somebody  who  would  dare  lift  the  veil  of 
family  dignity  and  let  the  law  look  at  what  was  underneath, 
so  that  Helen  could  go  undisturbed  about  the  streets. 

This  was  on  Monday.  On  Tuesday  John  hung  about 
the  house  to  see  whether  Charles  would  come  again.  There 
might  be  more  about  Grasslands,  and  John  was  solidly 
"  on  the  job."  Charles  did  not  come,  and  so  he  watched 
his  father.  Was  Norris  worried,  thoughtful,  as  if  he,  too, 
knew  the  unusual  was  in  the  wind?  But  Norris,  though 
grave  as  he  was  ordinarily  through  this  time  of  stress, 
seemed  unmoved,  and  John  concluded  that,  whatever 
Charles  had  set  on  foot  at  Grasslands,  his  father  was  with 
him.  There  was  "  nothing  doing,"  which  indicated  that 
Charles  had  been  clever  and  there  would  be  scope  for  every 
thing  doing  later. 

Something  before  half-past  seven,  on  Wednesday,  John 
left  the  house,  and  took  the  train  at  eight-fifteen.  It  had 
been  a  clear,  cold  day  and  the  moon  came  up  in  splendor. 
The  moon  was  important.  It  made  some  difference  in 


THE    BLACK   DROP  173 

choosing  whether  to  drive  up  from  the  station,  little  more 
than  a  quarter  of  a  mile,  or  walk  by  the  path  through  the 
woods  and  across  the  dry  brook.  It  was  going  to  be  a  gor 
geous  night,  John  told  himself,  snatching  at  the  familiar 
water-indented  stretches  running  past  the  car  window.  He 
was  slightly  exhilarated  and  boyishly  expectant,  as  he 
always  found  himself  on  the  road  to  Grasslands.  He 
loved  the  place,  and  had  liked  staying  in  town  far  less  than 
those  other  winters  when  he  had  done  it  for  days  at  a  time 
with  Grasslands  open,  warm  and  waiting.  He  was  slow  in 
leaving  the  train,  because  Charles  also  might  be  on  it,  and 
when  he  did  get  off,  went  down  to  the  farther  end  of  the 
platform,  avoiding  the  waiting  baggage  man  and  taxi- 
driver,  and  struck  off  into  the  road.  He  would  walk,  he 
decided,  and  he  would  not  take  the  field  path.  There  was 
no  wind,  and  the  air  sprung  keen,  with  an  edge,  but  sweet. 
Making  stout  use  of  his  stick,  he  set  off  at  a  good  pace, 
though  he  did  find,  half-way  perhaps,  that  his  leg  and 
back  were  not  in  their  best  condition  and  might,  if  tried 
too  recklessly,  let  him  in  for  a  pain  he  had  characterized, 
once  for  all,  when  he  first  passed  it  over  to  the  doctor,  to 
be  dealt  with,  as  "  the  devil."  But  he  was  presently, 
without  misadventure,  going  up  the  driveway  to  his 
father's  house,  and  here,  rounding  the  last  curve,  he 
stopped,  mentally  greeting  the  big,  rambling  structure, 
and  loving  it.  He  could  even  forget  Charles,  the  house 
so  brimmed  his  imagination,  sitting  there  in  a  calm  ampli 
tude,  the  leaf-traceried  moonlight  dripping  over  its  white- 
pillared  porch  and  quivering  shadows  from  the  embower 
ing  rowan  tree  lying  thick  upon  the  roof.  John  leaned 
on  his  stick  and  looked,  and  it  was  all  so  intimate  and  dear 
that  he  ignored  for  a  moment  the  story  told  by  the  lights 
in  the  front  rooms  of  the  lower  floor  and  in  one  room  above. 


174  THE   BLACK   DROP 

So  Charles  was  there.  And  why  was  he  there  and  who 
was  with  him?  For  he  was  not  the  man  to  go  off  on  a 
solitary  quest  for  sleep. 

John  went  forward  and  up  the  steps.  All  the  shades 
were  drawn,  but  he  could  see  the  lines  of  light  at  the  sides. 
He  got  out  his  key  and  fitted  it  in  the  lock,  and,  recalled 
now  to  a  keen  sense  of  possibilities,  found  himself  warm 
with  anticipation.  What  was  he  to  find?  Charles,  be 
yond  a  doubt,  and  Charles,  interrupted,  spied  upon,  in 
dubitably  furious.  But  that  rather  added  to  the  moment's 
piquancy.  He  was  not  afraid  of  Charles.  He  opened 
the  door  softly  and  went  in,  and  immediately  a  voice  rose 
as  if  to  lose  no  time  in  giving  him  the  clue  to  what  he  was 
to  find,  Charles's  voice,  strictly  courteous,  yet  irritated 
as  Charles  was  when  he  did  not  believe  himself  to  be  in 
every  sense  master  of  the  situation. 

"Speak  English,  Captain  Pfaff,  will  you?  All  you 
chaps  know  as  much  English  as  I  do,  and  I  haven't 
enough  German  to  count  in." 

"  Pardon !  "  was  the  instant  reply  from  four  or  five  male 
voices,  and  then  a  roughish  one  with  a  pronounced  accent 
replied : 

"I  was  saying  you  would  find  all  the  papers  in  the 
dispatch  bag.  Mine  I  have  here.  My  instructions  are  to 
return  at  once.  My  crew  is  already  assembled  and  waiting 
for  me.  I  understand  I  am  to  be  taken  to  the  little  town 
—  what  do  you  call  it?  It  is  a  short  walk  from  there." 

"  My  car  will  take  you  down,"  said  Charles.  "  My  man 
will  drive  you.  He's  all  right.  And  you'll  be  off  to-night." 

"  In  the  early  morning,"  said  the  voice.  "  Morgen 
Stunde, —  you  know  the  proverb." 

And  there  were  choruses  of  "  Ja,  Ja,"  and  again  "  Par 
don,"  probably  in  the  direction  of  Charles,  and  one  pains- 


THE   BLACK   DROP  175 

taking  voice  explained  pedantically,  no  doubt  for  his  en 
lightenment  : 

"  It  means,  '  The  morning  hour  has  gold  in  its  mouth.' ' 

"  Well,  Captain  Pfaff ,"  said  Charles,  now  in  his  voice  of 
high  good  humor,  "  we  wish  you  luck.  We'll  have  in  some 
fizz  and  toast  you.  Fair  winds  above  and  friendly  cur 
rents  below,  no  collisions  with  mermaids,  no  running  up 
against  a  whale,  no  salt  water  Lorelei.  By  George!  you 
fellows  have  got  the  sand.  I'm  reasonably  cool-headed 
myself,  but  under  water  —  not  me !  " 

"  I  am  a  Prussian,"  said  the  voice,  with  a  strong  rolling 
of  the  "  r."  "  We  are  Germans  all." 

There  was  a  scattering  chorus  of  applause.  But  on 
that  a  new  voice  came  out  with  a  piercing  clearness : 

"  There's  a  cold  draft  here." 

"  Shut  the  door,"  Charles  interrupted.  "  We  ought  to 
have  shut  it  anyway.  Can't  be  too  careful." 

But  the  voice  went  on,  in  what  was  evidently  a  sharp 
ness  of  discovery  and  alarm : 

"  No !  no !  it's  that  outside  door.  Some  one  has  opened 
it.  Some  one  is  in  the  hall." 

John,  at  that,  shut  the  outside  door  with  a  distinct 
hang,  and  went  forward  to  the  library.  At  the  sound  of 
the  door,  there  had  been  also  a  confusion  of  chairs  hastily 
pushed  back  and  feet  upon  the  floor,  and  John,  looking 
in  at  them,  with  what  he  hoped  was  a  cheerful  self-posses 
sion,  saw  men  standing  about  the  library  table,  all  looking 
at  him  in  most  evident  anger  and  alarm.  Charles  alone 
was  not  in  any  sense  taken  aback.  He  was  merely  furious. 
John  knew  that  blackness  of  the  brow  and  braced  himself. 
But  he  didn't  waste  time  in  meeting  and  defying  it. 
Charles  he  could  see  any  day.  He  must  take  in  the  rest 
of  the  scene,  learn  the  faces  of  the  other  men,  photograph 


176  THE    BLACK   DROP 

them  on  his  memory.  They  were  all  of  the  Teuton  type, 
pink-skinned  and  yellow-haired,  and  the  one  with  the  worn, 
seasoned  face,  with  the  bag  before  him  on  the  table,  was, 
he  was  sure,  Captain  Pfaff.  Yes,  and  another  he  abso 
lutely  knew.  This  was  a  naturalized  American  citizen,  a 
German  who  had  for  months  been  protesting,  perhaps  with 
too  great  ardor,  his  adherence  to  the  ideals  of  democracy. 
He  was  a  tall,  thick  man  of  a  ruddy  countenance  and  flow 
ing  beard,  and  now  he  looked  indubitably  scared,  and  John 
exulted.  He  thought  for  an  instant  of  calling  to  him: 
"How  d'ye  do,  professor?  I've  just  read  the  report  of 
your  lecture  on  The  American  Ideal."  And  there  was 
another  man,  noticeable  for  the  sheer  worry  of  his  look. 
He  was  a  sanguine  fellow  with  a  short,  disorderly  red 
beard,  an  irregular,  twitching  mouth  and  enormous  ears. 
The  mouth  twitched  as  he  confronted  John  and  the  fore 
head,  too,  drew  into  lines  and  his  eyelids  snapped.  His 
was  decidedly,  after  Captain  Pfaff' s,  the  most  provocative 
face  there,  and  that  from  its  extremity  of  apprehension. 
The  other  three  might  have  been  business  or  professional 
men,  but  they  all  wore  a  like  look  of  concentration  and 
perhaps  anxiety.  This  John's  eyes  told  him  in  an  instant, 
for  almost  at  once  Charles  had  spoken,  slowly,  concisely, 
not  raising  his  voice : 

"What  the  devil  do  you  want?" 

"  My  Elizabethan  Dramatists,"  said  John  pleasantly 
and  without  hesitation.  "Going  to  have  some  eats?  If 
you  are,  I'll  stay." 

"  No,"  said  Charles,  blacker  by  a  shade,  and  also  pro 
foundly  puzzled.  He  didn't  know  what  to  make  of  John, 
he  didn't  know  what  to  do  with  him,  and  John,  seeing  it, 
could  have  whooped  for  joy.  It  was  a  species  of  triumph 
over  old  Charles  who  was  so  clever,  and  he  felt  the  swag- 


THE   BLACK   DROP  177 

gering  importance  of  finding  himself  clever,  too.  "No, 
we're  not  here  to  eat.  I'm  trying  to  arrange  some  sort  of 
service  for  getting  reliable  news  out  of  Germany  —  whether 
she's  starving,  that  sort  of  thing.  If  she  is,  that  means 
more  to  the  Allies  than  any  victory  of  arms." 

A  murmur  of  assent  ran  round  the  table.  But,  John 
saw,  they  were  watching  him  —  all  except  Captain  Pfaff, 
whose  eyes  never  left  the  leather  bag  before  him  on  the 
table  —  and  watching  him  unpleasantly. 

"  I'll  run  up  and  get  my  books,"  said  he,  with  a  nod  to 
Charles.  "  Then  I  shall  have  to  cut.  I  may  get  the  next 
train  in  town." 

He  left  his  stick  leaning  against  the  end  of  the  settle  by 
the  library  door  and  did  go  upstairs  and  into  his  own 
room  at  the  back  of  the  landing.  There  he  paused  a  mo 
ment  in  the  dark,  found  his  breath  was  coming  faster  than 
it  need,  after  a  run  upstairs,  and  asked  himself  ironically 
if  he  was  afraid  of  those  Johnnies  down  there,  afraid  of 
Charles?  He  rather  thought  not.  But  they  were  un 
pleasant,  those  fellows,  Charles  most  of  all.  Crooks,  all 
of  them.  He  had  no  more  than  a  literary  acquaintance 
with  crooks  and  found  he  was  pleasurably  excited,  on  the 
whole,  and  ready  to  learn  more.  He  hadn't  done  any  good 
by  bursting  in  on  them,  possibly  only  harm  by  putting 
them  on  their  guard  and  making  them  crookeder ;  at  least 
he  had  come  on  Charles's  hidden  nest  and  the  only  thing 
to  do  now  was  to  go  away  with  the  little  germ  of  con 
jecture  he  had  filched  and  see  if  he  could  quicken  it.  In 
the  minute  or  two  while  he  debated  these  things,  he  stood 
still  in  the  dark.  Either  he  hadn't  thought  of  switching 
on  the  light,  which  afterward  seemed  to  him  incredible, 
there  in  his  own  room  when  it  was  always  his  first  act  on 
entering,  or  it  was  tinglingly  appropriate  to  the  occasion 

N 


178  THE    BLACK   DROP 

to  lurk  in  blackness,  listening  to  his  own  breath  and  think 
ing  thoughts  of  Charles.  But  now,  when  it  struck  him 
he  had  been  there  long  enough,  he  turned  to  his  book-case, 
made  a  random  clutch  at  some  books,  went  out  of  the  room 
with  two  of  them,  and  down  the  stairs.  Captain  Pfaff, 
his  bag  before  him  on  the  wooden  settle,  was  jerking  on 
his  short,  thick  coat.  He  did  not  look  up,  but  at  the  in 
stant  of  John's  reaching  the  foot  of  the  stairs  there  came 
a  call  from  the  library: 

"  Captain  Pfaff !  one  moment." 

The  captain  stepped  to  the  library  door  leaving  his  bag 
behind  him  on  the  settle.  John  slid  his  books  under  the 
settle,  took  his  stick  noiselessly  from  the  end  of  it,  seized 
Captain  Pfaff's  bag  in  the  same  hand,  opened  the  door 
softly  and  shut  it  behind  him,  and  went  down  the  steps, 
stumbling  in  his  haste.  He  skirted  the  front  of  the  house 
and  made  for  the  orchard  at  the  right,  for  the  field  path 
was  beyond.  There  were  lights  in  the  garage  he  had  to 
pass,  and  outside  it  two  big  touring  cars.  Whether  men 
were  hanging  about  here  he  could  not  see,  but  he  fancied, 
stopping  for  an  instant,  he  caught  a  sound  of  low-toned 
talk.  Even  if  there  were  loiterers,  it  seemed  hardly  prob 
able  they  would  get  wind  of  him,  as  he  walked  cautiously 
on  the  soft  brown  grass  at  the  edge  of  the  drive ;  also  he 
covered  the  ground  at  his  best,  which  was  not  inconsider 
able  for,  though  his  back  had  begun  to  growl  at  him,  he 
had  a  good  stride.  Presently,  in  the  orchard,  he  did  halt 
to  listen,  and  at  that  moment  heard  the  starting  of  a  car. 
It  did  not,  he  was  certain,  stop  at  the  house,  but  went 
directly  along  the  drive  and  out  to  the  road.  This  seemed 
to  indicate  that  Charles  had  assumed  he  would  go  by  the 
road  and  had  taken  a  car  to  follow  him.  As  soon  as  they 
found  he  had  not  chosen  the  road  —  and  they  would  prove 


THE   BLACK   DROP  179 

that  in  short  order  —  Charles  would  know  where  to  go. 
The  field  path  —  he  would  think  of  that  instantly,  and 
he  would  come  striding  fast  on  foot.  The  danger  of  de 
lay  admonished  John,  and  he  plunged  along  through  the 
orchard  and  felt  briefly  more  secure,  for  now  he  was  in 
the  shadow  of  the  woods.  The  moon  was  shining  through 
those  drifts  of  cloud  where  the  upper  winds  were  moving, 
and  he  could  see  in  the  patches  of  her  revealing  the  stones 
and  the  trunks  he  had  known  all  his  life,  as  familiar  to 
him  as  his  own  hand.  Charles  would  know  where  to  track 
him.  To  Charles  also  these  were  beaten  paths.  Undeni 
ably  he  did  feel  a  creep  of  panic  over  that :  Charles  in 
chase,  Charles  in  the  brutality  of  rage.  John  worshipped 
courage  before  every  virtue,  because  he  knew  the  wincings 
inevitable  to  a  man  who  is  not  physically  fit,  who  dreads 
the  anguish  of  a  brutal  stroke,  but  at  the  touch  of  fear  he 
stepped  into  the  woods  and  stood  there,  breathing  hard. 
Cover  for  an  instant  he  must  have,  the  shadow  of  the  dear 
trees  he  knew,  and  safety  from  that  betraying,  imperson 
ally  cruel  jade  of  a  moon.  And  as  his  breath  stilled  and 
his  courage  rose,  he  thought  there  was  some  one  near  him 
in  the  wood.  A  stumble,  the  snapping  of  twigs  under  a 
man's  foot,  then  silence;  if  some  one  was  there  it  was  be 
hind  him,  the  orchard  way.  Had  he  been  followed  ?  If  he 
was  to  be  overtaken,  it  was  more  to  be  dreaded  in  what 
had,  a  moment  before,  seemed  a  safe  obscurity. 

He  stumbled  out  into  the  path  again  and  ran.  Was 
he  still  followed?  Now  he  was  not  sure.  On  the  little 
stone  causeway  that  crossed  the  brook  he  stopped  again  to 
listen,  and  the  moment  his  feet  touched  it  he  knew  what  he 
was  to  do.  The  stone  itself  gave  him  a  hint,  a  friendly 
invitation.  This  was  the  old  play  place,  the  "hidey- 
holc  "  for  boyish  treasures.  He  stepped  down  to  the  edge 


180  THE   BLACK   DROP 

of  the  brook  and,  with  no  debating  of  that  mental  sugges 
tion,  thrust  the  bag  into  the  space  under  the  bridge, 
stepped  up  the  bank  again  and  went  slowly  on.  He  con 
tinued  to  walk  slowly,  not  looking  round,  and  his  mind 
was  calm.  Let  them  come  now,  if  they  chose.  The  bag 
was  safe. 

As  he  went  on  toward  the  station,  his  mood  shifted, 
and  instead  of  feeling  the  necessity  of  stealing  Captain 
Pfaff's  bag  he  recognized  the  immense  absurdity  of  it. 
What  if  he  did  distrust  Charles  profoundly?  What  if 
six  men  in  the  library  at  Grasslands  were  indubitably 
Germans?  Had  he  any  right  in  reason  to  pick  up  a  bag 
that  didn't  belong  to  him  and  "  beat  it "  like  the  criminal 
he  was?  He  got  very  merry  over  it,  all  by  himself,  and  by 
the  time  he  reached  the  station  and  walked  into  its  circle 
of  light,  he  was  in  a  pleasant  frame  of  mind.  No  one 
but  the  baggage  master  was  there,  and  he  had  a  few 
neighborly  words  with  him,  giving,  on  request,  an  itemized 
assurance  of  the  health  of  all  the  Tracys.  The  train  pulled 
in  on  time  and  he  mounted  his  car,  but  stood  on  the 
platform  to  the  last  that,  if  Charles  should  come,  they 
could  encounter  in  a  decent  privacy.  But  though  Charles 
did  not  appear,  the  professorial  author  of  the  American 
Ideal  did,  and  near  that  last  minute.  He  was  running  and 
would  have  made  his  objective  easily  if  he  had  taken  the 
car  nearest  him ;  but  seeing  John  in  possession  of  the 
last  platform  of  all,  he  changed  his  course  for  that.  The 
train  was  moving,  and  John  had  time  to  think,  "Fall  if 
you  like,  you  fool,  and  break  your  precious  neck  —  I 
won't  help  you,"  when  the  idealist  surged  up  the  steps  and 
did  come  down  on  his  knees  at  the  top,  and  John  dropped 
his  stick  and  dragged  him  up.  But  the  stick  was  gone  and 
John  said,  "  O  the  devil ! "  while  the  idealist  dusted  his  own 
knees  and  demanded  violently : 


THE    BLACK   DROP  181 

"Where  is  it?" 

"  Overboard,"  said  John,  making  his  way  in,  and  with 
difficulty,  for  lurking  pain  had  begun  to  remind  him: 
"Forgotten  me,  have  you?  I'll  show  you."  The  ideal 
ist  was  at  his  elbow,  supporting  him,  and  he  jerked  his 
arm  away.  "Let  me  alone,  can't  you?"  he  inquired,  but 
the  idealist  continued  to  put  his  demand,  with  guttural 
passion: 

"Where  is  it?    Where  is  it,  I  ask  you?  " 

John  had  reached  a  seat  where  a  mountain  of  a  man 
slept,  and  wedged  himself  in  beside  him.  He  was  not  going 
to  run  the  risk  of  seeking  the  whole  seat  further  on 
and  sharing  it  with  his  tormentor.  But  the  fellow  clung 
to  his  job.  He  stood  in  the  aisle  and  again  bent  over 
him. 

"Where  is  it?"  he  hammered  on.     "Where  is  it?" 

"My  stick?"  said  John,  at  last.  "I  hope  old  Jerry 
there  at  the  station's  picked  it  up.  If  not,  I  suppose  the 
Portland  train'll  run  over  it." 

"  I  do  not  mean  your  stick,"  said  the  idealist,  with  a 
reproachful  bitterness.  "  You  know  I  do  not  mean  your 
stick.  And  where,"  he  continued  in  an  augmented  out 
burst  over  a  new  and  illuminative  thought,  "  where  are 
your  books?  You  came,  you  said,  to  get  books.  It  was 
a  pretext.  Where  are  they?" 

"My  books?"  repeated  John  vaguely,  clutching  at  an 
answer  and  finding  none  plausible  enough.  And  then  his 
leg  twinged  and  his  back  replied  according  to  a  perfect 
system  of  agonized  communication,  and  he  ended :  "  You 
go  —  And  he  told  the  idealist  precisely  where  to  go. 

"  It  does  not  matter,"  said  the  man  inexorably.  "  You 
may  answer  or  not  as  you  like.  I  shall  not  leave  you." 

Nor   would   lie  leave   him,   even   though    the   conductor 


182  THE   BLACK   DROP 

suggested  that  there  were  "  seats  up  front,"  and  when  they 
pulled  into  the  station  at  Boston  and  John  got  up  among 
the  last  because  the  pain  was  slashing  now  like  knives 
and  the  possibility  of  being  jostled  made  an  added  anguish, 
still  the  idealist  was  there,  and,  with  an  apparent  concern, 
offering  an  arm.  John  looked  at  him  this  time ;  he  didn't 
speak,  and  the  man  involuntarily  fell  back  from  the  mes 
sage  in  the  white  face  and  eyes  shooting  fury.  But  he  kept 
behind  until  John  had  made  his  slow  way  to  the  taxi 
stand,  and  then  he  did  come  forward,  saying  doggedly : 

"  I  shall  drive  with  you." 

John  was  just  setting  foot  on  the  running  board,  but  he 
withdrew  it  and  faced  his  man. 

"  See  here,"  said  he.  "  If  you  are  going  with  me,  we 
won't  take  a  taxi.  I'll  telephone  the  police  and  we'll 
order  a  patrol  wagon.  It's  up  to  you." 

The  idealist,  glowering,  did  fall  back,  and  John  crawled 
in  and  was  driven  home.  And  as  he  went,  trying  to 
brace  himself  against  the  jolts,  he  thought,  with  some 
bitter  amusement  still  left,  that  the  idealist  could  swear  to 
Charles  that  his  hands  were  empty.  He  had  not  been 
carrying  a  bag.  And  suddenly  he  bethought  him  of  the 
books  he  had  brought  down  from  his  room ;  they  might 
have  been  Elizabethan  Dramatists  or  they  might  not.  He 
did  not  know.  Whatever  they  were,  he  hadn't  them  now, 
nor  could  he  possibly  remember  at  what  point  he  had  got 
rid  of  them.  The  pain  was  bad  enough  for  that. 


XVIII 

THE  next  morning  Emily,  on  her  early  trips  about  the 
house,  found  John's  door  slightly  open  and  looked  in. 
At  the  same  moment  he  called  to  her,  and  she  knew  what 
had  come  to  him,  and,  with  a  soft,  inarticulate  sound  of 
mother  trouble,  she  went  to  him.  John,  his  forehead  tied 
into  a  knot,  was  flat  among  the  pillows. 

"Oh,  why  didn't  you  call  me  in  the  night?"  she  said. 
She  always  blamed  herself  for  not  knowing  if  her  dears  had 
gone  under.  "  When  did  it  begin?  " 

"  Last  night,"  John  said.     "  On  the  way  home." 

"  And  you  got  to  bed  the  best  way  you  could."  But 
Emily  was  not  one  really  to  lament.  "I  think  you'd 
better  have  your  breakfast  before  I  telephone  the  doctor." 

"  Don't  start  him  up,"  said  John.  "  He'd  only  give 
me  tablets  and  I've  got  two  or  three  of  'em  left.  They're 
somewhere  round  my  bureau.  You  find  'em." 

Emily  looked,  privately  resolving  she  would  have  an 
extra  prescription  and  keep  it  where  she  could  lay  hands 
on  it.  For  she  knew,  and  loved  him  for  the  boyish  folly 
of  it,  that  when  an  attack  was  over  and  John  had  rushed 
back  to  his  ordinary  activities  he  forgot  his  enemy  would 
return.  She  did  find  the  little  box  in  a  sea  of  shirt  studs 
and  cravats  and,  after  he  had  gulped  a  tablet,  smoothed 
him  out  a  little,  though  he  did  so  hate  to  be  touched,  the 
pain  had  such  a  way  of  resenting  interference. 

"  Send  me  Erastus,"  he  called  after  her,  when  she  went 

183 


184  THE    BLACK   DROP 

away.  "  Soon  as  grandsir's  got  through  with  him. 
Funny  name!  Let  him  bring  my  tray.  Don't  you  come 
up  again.  I'm  all  right." 

He  was  always  all  right,  she  reflected,  with  that  hurt 
misery  she  had  over  him,  as  she  went  downstairs.  You 
couldn't  do  anything  for  him,  at  these  times  of  downfall, 
to  show  him  what  you  felt.  All  he  wanted  was  to  be  let 
alone,  to  lie  submerged  in  his  pillowed  misery  until  he  could 
come  to  the  surface  again  and  put  on  a  brighter  armor  of 
bravado.  Presently  Erastus  appeared,  a  round-faced, 
pink-cheeked  colossus  with  a  snub  nose  and  inquiringly 
honest  eyes.  He  didn't  bring  the  tray.  Mrs.  Tracy 
thought  he  might  do  some  things  first,  lift  her  son,  it  might 
be,  and  smooth  up  the  bed. 

"  I'm  terrible  strong,"  Erastus  volunteered.  He  did  do 
a  few  muscular,  gentle  services,  and  then  stood  looking 
down  at  John  with  something  like  entreaty  and  yearning 
in  his  gaze. 

"Funny,  isn't  it?"  John  inquired,  glancing  up  at  him, 
not  offended,  not  ironical,  but  indifferently  aware  that 
there  ought  to  be  a  community  of  amusement  between  them 
over  a  long  hungry  fellow  laid  by  the  heels  and  cast,  like 
a  foolish  horse. 

"  No,  I  don't  think  it's  funny,"  said  Erastus  gravely. 
"  I  think  it's  awful." 

This  savored  of  pity,  and  John  involuntarily  frowned. 

"  Well,  don't  look  like  that  about  it,"  he  recommended. 
"  What  are  you  looking  like  that  for  anyway?  You 
needn't  cry." 

Erastus  passed  over  this.  He  was  not  going  to  cry,  but 
he  was  perfectly  willing  to,  if  he  could  bring  about  a  cure, 

"  You  ought,"  said  he,  "  to  see  Doctor  Landis." 

"Who's  Doctor  Landis?"  John  inquired. 


THE   BLACK   DROP  185 

"  He's  the  doctor  I'm  taking  lessons  of.  It  isn't  only 
that  he  knows  about  the  skeleton  —  he's  studied  it  and 
he  can  draw  it  right  off  with  two  hands,  one  hand  one  side, 
one  hand  t'other,  same  as  they  say  Doctor  Richardson 
used  to  — but  it's  as  if  he  could  look  right  into  your  body 
and  see  what's  the  matter." 

"  Oh,  get  out,"  said  John. 

Erastus  quietly  and  earnestly  got  out ;  but  when  he  had 
reached  the  door  John,  repenting,  since  he  had  been  kind 
and  his  hands  were  wonderful,  called  to  him: 

"What's  your  other  name?" 

Erastus  turned  and  said  quietly : 

"  Triphammer."  Then,  from  habit,  he  answered  the 
derision  he  was  accustomed  to  when  Triphammer  burst 
upon  a  world  unprepared.  "  It's  funny,  ain't  it?  Father 
said  it  was  a  French  name  once :  I  mean,  the  French  was 
something  like  it.  I  don't  mind.  It's  a  pretty  good  name 
for  a  manipulator.  Calls  attention."  Then  he  went  up 
stairs  to  grandsir. 

John  lay  envying  him.  He  had  bone  and  muscle  and 
flesh  in  the  perfect  proportion,  and,  though  on  so  big 
a  scale,  he  moved  with  ease  and  lightness.  At  that 
moment  John  admired  nobody  more  than  Erastus  Trip 
hammer.  Presently  his  mother  came  with  a  tray  and  sat 
and  fed  him,  so  that  he  need  not  by  the  slightest  move 
ment  wake  the  pain.  It  was  hard  for  Emily  to  be 
altogether  sorry  when  men  fell  into  her  hands  to  be  com 
forted.  The  mother  in  her  would  passionately  have 
desired  to  bear  the  pangs  for  them ;  but  a  savage,  natural 
woman  also  in  her  slyly  knew  it  had  a  horrid  glee  in  getting 
them  where  she  could  offer  herself  up  in  sacrifice  for  their 
better  care. 

"  Father's  coming  up  to  see  you,"  she  said,  when  he  had 


186  THE   BLACK   DROP 

finished  and  closed  his  eyes  with  an  ostentatious  intent  of 
getting  rid  of  her. 

"  No,"  said  John,  "  don't  you  let  him.  Not  for  an  hour 
or  so.  I  want  to  sleep." 

"  If  you  can  sleep !  "  said  Emily.  "  I'm  thankful,  dear, 
you  can.  I'll  tell  him.  '  He'll  be  thankful,  too." 

She  went  out  softly  and  John,  his  eyes  shut  to  outer 
things,  bade  his  mind  go  back  to  last  night.  He  traversed 
every  step  of  the  way  from  the  moment  he  stood  at  the 
library  door  and  looked  at  Charles  and  his  guests  to  his 
thrusting  the  bag  under  the  bridge.  There  he  left  it  and, 
turning  back,  went  over  the  whole  tiling  again.  For  the 
first  time  in  his  life,  he  was  concerned  for  Charles.  So 
natural  was  it,  too,  so  normally  did  his  misgivings  rise 
from  the  events  of  the  night  that  he  didn't  even  wonder  at 
them.  That  was  the  way  it  struck  him.  That  was  the 
way  it  was.  He  had  been  perfectly  sure  that  Charles  was 
about  some  shabby  piece  of  business  —  whether  in  connec 
tion  with  outward  affairs,  at  least  where  Helen  was  con 
cerned —  but  now  that  he  had  the  strongest  guess-work 
to  support  the  tale  brought  him  by  his  eyes  and  ears, 
now  that  he  was  practically  assured  of  the  bigness  of  the 
crime  and  the  peaks  of  honor  it  sought  to  foul,  he  was 
afraid :  and  for  Charles.  He  had  often  wanted  Charles  to 
be  tried  at  the  family  tribunal  and  given  sentence,  told 
he  was  indubitably  an  outlaw.  But  here  he  was  indeed  an 
outlaw  and  John  was  shrinking  for  him,  smitten  by  an 
apprehension  and  remorse  Charles  would  never  feel,  as  if, 
being  a  part  of  that  body  corporate,  the  family,  the 
family  had  sinned  with  him  and  must  recover  itself,  repent 
and  make  amends.  All  this  he  did  not  think  with  definite- 
ness.  But  he  did  lie  there  and  ache  mentally  as  well  as 
physically,  and  it  was,  strangely,  for  Charles  who  had 
chosen  the  dark  way. 


THE   BLACK   DROP  187 

Then  there  was  a  step  on  the  stairs  and  he  knew  it  was 
his  father  and  was  relieved  because  he  had  thought  these 
things  long  enough.  The  door  came  open  and  some  one 
walked  in,  and  it  was  Charles.  John,  looking  up  at  him, 
his  pupils  widened  into  black  by  the  shock  of  seeing  him 
there  in  his  morning  freshness,  had  an  instant's  throb  of 
wonder  about  what  would  happen  next.  Charles,  he  knew, 
would  question  him,  assault  him  with  every  known  violence, 
to  make  him  give  up  the  secret  of  the  night  before.  He 
might  even  lay  hands  on  him  —  those  fine,  exquisitely  kept 
hands  —  and  drag  the  pain  back  into  his  half-deadened 
leg  and  spine,  and  John,  who  had  made  up  his  mind  in  the 
minute  of  this  first  shock,  determined,  with  a  dull  obsti 
nacy,  that  his  own  only  weapon  was  silence.  Whatever 
Charles  asked  him  he  would  not  speak.  Also,  in  the 
shrinking  inward  depths  of  him,  he  would  not  even  will 
his  father  to  come  or  Erastus  Triphammer,  before  Charles 
laid  hold  on  him.  This  was  a  great  moment  for  courage. 
Charles  had  never  looked  more  unquestionably  the  fine 
type  of  the  physical  man.  There  seemed  to  be  a  great 
deal  of  him,  yet  in  a  different  way  from  Erastus  Trip 
hammer's  breadth  and  brawn.  He  had  not  taken  off  his 
overcoat,  and  the  soft  perfection  of  it  became  him.  He 
stood  at  the  bedside  and  looked  down  on  his  brother  and 
John,  to  his  amazement,  saw  that  he  did  not  appear  to  be 
angry  at  all.  And  John  kept  his  eyes,  the  pupils  of  them 
black  as  ink  now,  the  more  immovably  on  Charles,  for  he 
was  the  more  afraid. 

"  Mum  told  me  I  could  come  up,"  Charles  began,  smiling. 
It  was  Charles  at  his  pleasantest.  "  If  I  didn't  stay  long. 
She  said  you'd  been  laid  by  the  heels.  It's  an  infernal 
shame." 

Still  John  only  looked  at  him  and  didn't  speak.  What 
did  Charles  want?  The  amount  of  energy  it  must  have 


188  THE   BLACK   DROP 

taken  to  put  on  that  sympathetic  serenity,  which  looked 
more  than  skin  deep,  was  great  enough  to  have  forged 
weapons  of  war.  Why  was  Charles  throwing  so  much 
force  and  fine  work  into  his  diplomacy? 

"  Never   you    mind,"    he    continued.     "  It'll    go    as    it 
came.     Always  does,  as  I  remember.     You'll  be  on  your 
feet  in  a  day  or  two.     And  when  you  are  on  your  feet 
—  do  you  see  Brennan  —  or  Finch  or  Bailey?" 

"  No,"  said  John.  He  found,  in  a  swift  mental  search, 
no  reason  why  he  shouldn't  let  up  so  far  as  to  diverge 
to  something  sufficiently  far  away  from  last  night. 
"  I  haven't  set  eyes  on  'em  —  since  they  went  over  to 
you." 

The  last  he  could  hardly  be  expected  to  deny  himself, 
yet  he  wished  instantly  he  had  kept  his  mouth  shut. 
There  was  bitterness  in  the  words,  and  with  Charles  he 
must  forego  even  that.  "  Don't  get  mad,"  he  was  always 
bidding  himself  when  Charles  began  upon  him  —  for  every 
thing  between  them  seemed  an  onset,  a  beginning  — 
"  Don't  let  him  say  you're  a  kid."  But  Charles  answered 
him  with  a  perfectly  open  candor,  as  if  he  didn't  see  he  had 
in  any  sense  got  a  rise  out  of  him. 

"  They're  absurd.  I  don't  know  what  to  do  with  them. 
You  see,  I'm  paying  them  perfectly  corking  prices  for 
their  stuff,  and  they're  not  doing  anything  I  can  use.  And 
when  I  don't  use  it  they  turn  round  and  imply  it's  my 
fault." 

"What  sort  of  stuff?"  John  asked. 

"Violent  —  red  flags — " 

"  Oh,  no,  it's  not,"  said  John,  "  if  you  mean  socialism. 
They've  been  fighting  socialism,  tooth  and  nail.  They 
haven't  gone  over  to  that." 

"  No,    no,"    said    Charles,    qualifying.     "  I    meant    red 


THE   BLACK   DROP  189 

rags,  I  suppose.  Attacking,  pitching  in,  hammer  and 
tongs.  People  aren't  led  that  way.  The  only  way  to  lead 
'em  is  to  persuade." 

John  said  nothing.  But  he  was  slightly  soothed  in 
his  raw  sense  of  the  boys'  defection.  They  had  at  least 
the  sand  not  to  follow  Charles's  lead.  And  at  that 
fortunate  moment  his  mother  came  up  the  stairs  and 
looked  doubtfully  in.  She  didn't  want  John  harried  when 
he  was  on  his  back ;  but  the  feel  of  the  atmosphere  slightly 
reassured  her.  Still  she  hardly  liked  the  black  intensity 
of  his  eyes.  But  Charles  turned  to  her  with  the  same  frank 
confidence  in  finding  himself  quite  right  in  his  attack. 
For  it  was  an  attack.  John,  now  that  the  first  impact 
of  it  was  over,  knew  that  perfectly. 

"  Mum,"  said  Charles,  "  what  do  you  think  is  going  to 
happen  to  me?  " 

She  didn't  know. 

"  I'm  going  to  speak  this  afternoon  before  the  Women's 
Something-or-other,  peace  ladies,  whatever  they  are. 
They  asked  me.  Wouldn't  hear  to  anything  but  the 
editor  of  the  Voice  coming  and  telling  'em  how  the  big 
scrap  over  there  can  be  scrapped." 

"  Well ! "  said  Emily.  She  didn't  look  reassuringly 
proud,  but  Charles  knew  how  the  family  was  fulminating 
—  going  up  in  smoke,  he  said  —  over  America's  laxity, 
and  he  didn't  expect  anything  else. 

"  So  I'm  going,"  he  said.  "  It'll  be  a  great  thing  for  the 
Voice.  Lift  the  circulation  tremendously.  'Bye,  John. 
Tell  your  gang  to  let  me  knock  some  sense  into  their  heads, 
when  you  get  a  chance." 

Smiling  to  the  last,  he  went  and  even  whistled  a  little 
on  the  stairs.  John  saw  last  night  was  to  be  ignored. 
They  were  each  to  show  a  competitive  unconcern.  Emily 


190  THE    BLACK   DROP 

was  standing  by  him,  about  to  ask  him  if  he  wouldn't  have 
the  doctor  now,  but  he  shook  his  head,  frowning;  he  had 
other  matters  to  adjust. 

"Mum,"  said  he,  "do  you  think  I  could  see  Jessie?" 
"Of  course  you  can  see  Jessie.      Shall  I  telephone?" 
This    was    Emily.      She    gave    you    exactly    what    you 
wanted,  and  didn't  fuss  you  with  offering  more.     John,  as 
she  knew,  adored  Helen,  but  she  wasn't  suggesting,  "  And 
Helen  too?  "  to  run  his  cup  over  the  brim.     If  he  asked 
for  Jessie,  Jessie  alone  he  should  have. 

"  If  Helen  comes  to  the  'phone  don't  let  her  think  I 
want  them  both,"  said  John,  divining  her  reticence.  "  Tell 
her  it's  Jessie.  It's  professional.  It's  business." 

So  Emily  went  at  once  to  the  telephone  and  presently 
reported  that  Jessie  was  at  home,  and  within  twenty 
minutes  Jessie  herself  entered  the  room  as  unconcerned 
as  if  she  were  used  to  being  summoned  by  young  men  laid 
low.  She  had  hurried,  and  her  cheeks  were  bright.  Her 
short  fur  coat  was  flying  back  disclosing  the  perfec 
tion  of  her  white  silk  waist,  and  John  decided  incidentally 
that,  although  she  wasn't  within  a  mile  of  Helen,  she  was 
pretty  —  oh,  very  pretty.  She  slipped  off  the  coat  and 
sat  down  composedly  by  the  bed.  She  didn't  ask  about 
his  pain,  and  he  saw  she  wasn't  going  to.  Jessie  was, 
he  thought,  a  mighty  good  fellow.  He  began  at  once  and 
told  her  about  last  night,  about  his  going  down  to  Grass 
lands  and  the  disaster  of  his  coming  home.  She  listened 
in  silence,  but  intently,  and  he  was  sure  every  word  bit. 
He  ended  by  saying  he  couldn't  take  this  to  his  father  or 
his  mother,  because  nobody  could  guess  what,  in  their 
absurd  loyalty  to  the  family  tradition,  they'd  do.  One 
thing  they  were  pretty  sure  to  do,  and  that  was  to 
approach  Charles,  the  very  thing  that  mustn't  be  thought 


THE    BLACK   DROP  191 

of  for  a  moment.  He  couldn't  tell  Helen  because  it  would 
upset  her  like  the  deuce  and  no  good  come  of  it.  He  could 
tell  precisely  and  only  Jessie,  and  she  must  swear  herself 
black  and  blue  to  keep  his  confidence. 

"  Of  course,"  said  she  thoughtfully.  Her  mind  seemed 
to  be  off  on  tracks  of  its  own.  "  No,  it  never  would  do 
to  let  Charles  in  for  trouble  now.  You've  got  to  give  him 
rope.  I've  not  much  doubt  he'll  hang  himself.  Anyway, 
the  thing  is  to  lie  low  and  see." 

"  Now  this  one  thing  has  got  to  be  done,"  said  John. 
He  was  ignoring  his  pain.  The  effect  of  the  little  tablet 
was  wearing  off  and  the  fiend  knew  and  was  creeping  back ; 
but  he  could,  briefly,  disregard  it.  He  could  sit  above 
it  and  plan  out  his  task  which  seemed  to  him  rather  a  big 
one,  a  tragic  one,  if  the  first  steps  were  really  as  serious 
as  they  had  seemed.  "  We've  got  to  get  that  bag  out 
from  under  the  bridge,  and  I  know  of  just  one  person 
to  do  it." 

Jessie  looked  eagerly  hopeful  and  held  her  breath.  But 
he  was  not  going  to  say  what  she  tremulously  wished  he 
might.  Was  hers  the  high  emprise? 

"  There's  just  one  person  and  that's  Cross,  supposing 
you're  right  about  him,  that  is,  and  he's  to  be  trusted  and 
all  that.  And  I've  come  to  the  conclusion  he  is." 

"But  where  is  he?"  she  asked,  putting  aside  her  imper 
tinent  feminine  ambitions  for  the  moment,  because  the 
thing  you  wanted  badly  enough  could  always  be  plunged 
for  in  the  end.  "  We  don't  know  where  he  is." 

"  No,  but  I'll  bet  you  Helen  does." 

"Am  I  to  tell  Helen?" 

"No,  no.  Just  tell  her  I  want  to  see  Cross.  Then  you 
send  him  to  me.  Get  a  messenger,  if  you  can't  do  it  by 
'phone.  I  don't  want  you  mixed  up  in  this  any  more 


192  THE    BLACK   DROP 

than  I  do  Helen.  I  won't  have  it.  But  send  Cross  to 
me." 

"  I  don't  believe  Helen  would  know." 

"  She  would.  Don't  you  remember  how  foolish  she 
always  was  about  the  servants — -lovely,  it  was  —  and 
knew  where  their  fathers  and  mothers  lived  and  sent  'em 
things  at  Christmas?  And  if  Cross  had  a  relation  this 
side  of  the  water  she'd  know  it,  and  that's  the  clue  for  you 
to  follow.  I've  got  to  have  that  bag." 

"  Of  course,"  said  Jessie,  again  thoughtfully.  Then 
she  giggled.  "  Wouldn't  it  be  funny,"  she  said,  "  if  it  was 
only  the  Herr  Captain's  hair  brushes  and  clean  hanky?" 

"  It  isn't,"  said  John.     "  It  just  isn't,  that's  all." 

She  got  up  and  took  her  coat. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  still  following  out  her  thoughts,  "  you 
could  trust  Cross." 

"  I'd  bet  on  Cross.  And  particularly  now  Charles  has 
turned  him  down.  There's  been  some  kick-up  there  we 
don't  know.  Charles  never  would  have  got  rid  of  him 
for  no  cause.  He's  too  valuable." 

"  If  I  can't  find  him  at  once,"  said  Jessie,  "  shall  I  send 
you  word?  Or  just  keep  on  trying?  " 

"  Keep  on  trying.  Only  it's  got  to  be  done.  The 
weather  may  change,  too.  It's  softening  up,  don't  you 
see?  —  and  if  there  should  be  a  pouring  rain  it  might  start 
the  brook,  and  wet  the  blamed  thing  through,  and  then 
where'd  we  be?  Last  night  the  bed  of  the  stream  was  as 
dry  as  my  hand ;  but  you  know  how  it  comes  rattling  down 
in  a  big  rain.  You  remember  it,  don't  you?" 

"  Tell  me  where  it  is,"  said  Jessie,  sitting  again,  in  spite 
of  the  impatience  in  his  face.  "  Just  while  I  button  my 
coat.  If  you  were  going  into  the  path  from  the  station, 
how  would  you  go  ?  " 


THE    BLACK    DROP  193 

"  You  turn  in  to  that  little  street  where  the  shoe  shop 
is,  and  go  over  a  bridge,  and  there's  a  kind  of  a  swampy 
place  and  beyond  that  the  woods  begin.  My  idea  would 
be  to  have  Cross  go  on  to  the  next  station,  Deal's  Crossing 
—  the  milk  station,  it's  only  a  mile,  and  a  train  stops  there 
twice  a  day  —  in  case  anybody  was  watching  at  the  station 
itself.  Then  he  could  walk  back  and  ask  for  the  shoe  shop, 
do  you  see  ?  —  and  go  by  it  to  the  swamp  and  the  path. 
And  I  should  say  he'd  better  have  a  bag  of  his  own,  a  good- 
sized  grip,  and  slip  the  other  bag  into  that,  in  case  they're 
on  the  lookout  for  it.  Or  he  could  slit  the  thing  with  his 
knife  and  take  out  what's  in  it." 

"  Or  open  it !  If  it's  hair  brushes,  it  wouldn't  be 
locked." 

"  It  is  locked,"  said  John.  "  I  tried  it  before  I  chucked 
it  under,  while  I  was  in  the  woods.  I  thought  if  they  were 
papers  I  could  put  'em  in  my  pocket  and  throw  the  bag 
away.  Yes,  the  thing  was  locked.  You  see  if  Cross  gets 
the  papers  out,  he  can  chuck  the  bag  back  under  the 
culvert.  Only  he  must  be  mighty  sure  it  is  empty." 

She  rose.  Slow  as  she  had  been,  her  coat  was  buttoned, 
and  she  found  no  other  pretext. 

"  All  right,"  said  she. 

"  Jessie,"  he  called.  She  was  at  the  door  now,  but  she 
stopped  and  looked  back,  ready,  at  a  word,  to  stay. 
"  You're  a  great  sport,"  said  John,  rather  shyly  for  him. 
"  I'm  awfully  obliged." 


XIX 

JESSIE  went  at  once  to  the  public  telephone  at  the  corner 
of  the  street  and  rang  up  Helen.  She  might  not  be  back, 
she  told  her,  before  dark.  It  was  business,  an  assignment. 
A  job?  Yes,  truly,  a  job.  And  would  Helen  please 
promise  not  to  go  out,  at  least  not  after  dark,  and  when 
Jessie  came  home  they'd  have  an  exciting  trot  together, 
back  and  forth  in  front  of  the  house,  and  she  should 
rather  think  that  was  enough  to  satisfy  anybody.  Then 
she  telephoned  the  station,  and  finding  there  was  a  train 
shortly  for  Deal's  Crossing,  took  a  taxi  and  told  her  man 
to  hurry.  She  had  not  for  a  moment  meant  to  waste 
time  hunting  up  Cross.  And  not  only  did  she  agree  with 
John  that  the  Herr  Captain's  hair  brushes  must  be  re 
trieved,  but  she  was  warm  with  the  interest  of  this  common 
place,  rather  humorous  little  errand.  Inconsiderable  as 
it  was,  it  gained  in  gravity  since  it  was  to  be  done  for  the 
assuaging  of  John. 

On  the  way  down  she  formulated  what  she  was  to  do : 
the  simplest  task,  it  seemed.  Only  she  had  forgotten  to 
provide  herself  with  means  of  concealing  her  booty  after 
she  got  it,  a  negligible  fault:  for,  if  she  once  got  the 
bag  of  the  Herr  Captain,  she  was  quite  sure  of  hang 
ing  to  it.  A  sweet  day,  she  told  herself,  as  she  sped  out 
into  the  country,  oh,  a  sweet  day !  The  weather  was 
softening,  as  John  had  said,  and  the  first  stages  of  the 
change  were  beautiful  in  the  extreme.  The  air  was  not 

194 


THE   BLACK   DROP  195 

of  the  wintry  clearness  it  had  been  but  yesterday.  An 
almost  impalpable  thickening,  a  hint  of  blue,  hung  upon 
the  marshes  and  softened  their  brown  ineffably.  When 
Jessie  got  out  at  Deal's  and  took  the  road  familiarly 
known  as  the  Milky  Way  she  was  in  gay  spirits,  and 
while  she  walked  the  mile  through  swampy  growth  the 
sense  of  anticipation  stayed  with  her  and  made  her  step 
light  and  her  heart  free.  The  way  was  easy.  There, 
not  far  from  the  station,  was  the  shoe  shop  and  the 
beginning  of  low  ground.  She  walked  rapidly  now 
and  presently  found  the  small  trees  thickening  into  an 
older  growth  and  at  her  left,  the  path.  There  were  a 
good  many  oaks  in  the  Tracy  wood  and  the  mahogany 
brown  leaves  were  whispering.  Three  or  four  clumps 
of  white  birches  showed  beyond  a  screen  of  hemlock,  and 
she  thought  how  enchanting  a  spot  it  would  be  in  the 
spring.  And  when  she  had  followed  the  gentle  curves  of 
the  path  for  perhaps  five  minutes,  she  rounded  a  more 
abrupt  bend  and  saw  the  dry  bed  of  the  alder-fringed 
brook  and  over  it  the  stone  bridge. 

Jessie  was  enormously  excited,  and  liked  the  feel  of  it. 
She  was  ready  to  whip  up  her  enthusiasm  a  little  more, 
if  that  might  be,  it  made  the  heart  beat  so  delightfully. 
At  the  bridge  she  stopped  and  looked  about  her.  She 
meant  to  be  very  cautious,  very  like  a  seasoned  agent  of 
the  force.  Was  the  Herr  Captain  perhaps  watching  her 
from  the  woods,  like  a  pirate  over  his  doubloons,  ready 
to  fight  for  his  hair  brushes,  presumably  by  scaring  her 
to  death?  There  was  no  sound  except  the  rustling  of  the 
oaks  and  the  whirr  of  the  little  brown  birds  that  spend 
their  winters  capriciously  winging  about  in  flocks,  settling 
and  sweeping  on  again.  She  knelt  at  the  side  of  the  bridge 
and  put  in  her  hand.  Then  she  got  down  lower  to  look. 


196  THE    BLACK   DROP 

There  was  nothing  there.  A  few  dried  wisps  of  some 
water  plant  brushed  her  cheek.  She  gazed  stupidly  at 
the  groundwork  of  stones  embedded  in  the  sandy  earth. 
But  she  could  see  from  one  side  of  the  space  to  the  other, 
and  again  she  told  herself  the  bag  was  gone.  She  got  up 
and  dusted  the  dried  grasses  from  her  knees,  and  knew  that 
the  lovely  brown  day  had  darkened  and  the  sense  of 
anticipation  dropped  like  a  stone. 

What  could  she  do  now?  Should  she  regard  the  quest 
as  ended,  go  back  and  tell  John  she  had  carried  it  out 
otherwise  than  he  had  planned  and  that  had  been  the 
disastrous  end?  She  walked  along,  hoping  against 
certainty  to  find  another  bridge,  and  presently  found 
herself  at  the  edge  of  the  woods  and  the  rising  ground  of 
the  orchard.  Here,  losing  the  brook,  she  turned  about 
and  went  back,  and,  because  she  could  not  bear  to  leave  the 
smiling  day  behind  her,  diverged  at  the  right  and  went  into 
the  woods.  Here  things  were  amply  beautiful ;  there  was 
delight  in  the  woods  if  she  hadn't  before  her  the  grave 
task  of  again  meeting  John.  At  her  feet  were  checker- 
berries  and  ground  pine  and  she  threw  off  her  disappoint 
ment  and  began  to  gather.  And  while  she  was  wandering 
within  a  small  range  she  heard  voices  and  stood  still, 
giving  up  her  green  activities,  to  listen.  She  was,  at  this 
point,  enormously  amused.  The  Herr  Captain,  she 
judged,  had  come  back  for  his  brushes  as  Captain  Kidd 
returns  for  buried  gold.  One  voice  was  a  woman's,  and 
presently  she  saw  them,  a  man  and  a  woman,  walking 
together  in  a  direction  parallel  to  the  path,  each  with  head 
bent,  quite  evidently  searching,  scanning  every  step  of  the 
ground,  putting  aside  a  branch  here  and  there,  and  some 
times  retracing  a  step  to  go  over  the  ground  again.  The 
woman,  we  may  know,  was  Elsa  Davenport.  Jessie  stood 


THE   BLACK   DROP  197 

as  still  as  the  trees  and  watched  them.  The  man  was  a 
sanguine  fellow  with  a  red  beard  and  a  twitching  mouth. 
The  woman  —  Jessie  felt  a  woman's  pang  as  she  noted  the 
perfection  of  her  clothes,  plain  to  the  point  of  severity 
but  in  the  same  degree  exquisite.  The  two  spoke  now  and 
then,  in  tones  not  unnaturally  low,  and  when  they  had 
turned  again  and  were  retracing  their  way,  the  woman 
stopped,  threw  up  her  head  as  a  wild  animal  sniffs  the  air 
and  listened.  Yet  Jessie  was  sure  it  was  not  to  any 
sound  from  her,  not  the  crackling  of  a  twig  or  a  breath  too 
full.  The  pretty  young  woman,  she  thought  —  for  now  she 
had  had  time  to  decide  she  was  either  pretty  or  something 
more  significant  —  was  being  warned  by  that  super-sense 
mankind  has  of  unseen  presences.  And  the  next  instant 
Elsa  moved  the  fraction  of  an  inch  necessary  to  see 
Jessie,  looked  at  her  and  broke  into  laughter,  an  excel 
lently  considered  laugh  of  the  sort  women  are  taught  for 
the  stage.  The  man  started.  He  even  jumped  aside  as  if, 
Jessie  thought,  the  laugh  had  been  a  warning  of  something 
venomous  in  the  path.  And  he,  too,  looked  at  Jessie. 
He  stood  still,  but  the  woman  moved  directly  forward, 
speaking  as  she  came.  And  her  vibrant  voice  was  signifi 
cant,  like  her  face. 

"  You've  found  it,"  she  called,  "  and  we've  been  hunting 
half  an  hour." 

"  Oh,  no,  I  haven't,"  Jessie  was  on  the  point  of  answer 
ing  stupidly,  her  mind  full  of  the  Herr  Captain's  bag. 
But  she  did  stop  herself  in  time  and  answered :  "  Found 
what?  Something  you  have  lost?  " 

Elsa  came  on,  picking  her  way  among  roots  and  gnarls, 
and  the  man  immovably  waited. 

"  Why,"  said  Elsa,  "  ground  pine.  I've  been  hunting 
and  hunting  and  this  man  kindly  offered  to  show  me  some. 


198  THE    BLACK    DROP 

But  not  a  speck.  You  needn't  wait,"  she  called  back  to 
him.  "  There's  a  lot  right  here." 

And  while  she  stooped,  tearing  up  the  evergreen  gar 
lands,  he  seemed  to  vanish,  he  went  so  softly  and  so  fast. 
But  it  was  not  in  the  direction  Jessie  had  come.  He  must, 
she  thought,  be  going  through  the  orchard  to  the  house. 
Then  Jessie,  amply  burdened  herself,  gathered  for  Elsa, 
who  talked  here  and  there,  with  a  pleasant  ease,  about  the 
day  and  the  fun  of  being  out  in  the  winter  woods  and  the 
silliness  of  houses  and  the  ills  they  entailed.  Jessie  was 
fascinated,  in  a  way,  though  not  attracted.  But  Elsa 
did  add  a  distinct  charm  to  the  enterprise  that  had 
seemed  to  end  so  badly,  was  really  ending  badly,  in  spite 
of  gay  companionship. 

"And  laurel,  too,"  said  Jessie,  "there,  just  where  you 
were  walking." 

She  went  over  to  it,  and  stood  for  an  instant  saluting 
its  green  immortality.  Then,  like  a  whispered  hint,  a 
hand  laid  on  her  arm  bidding  her  remember,  something 
said  to  her :  "  Just  here  they  were  walking.  It  is  covered 
with  ground  pine.  They  didn't  want  it  after  all.  They 
were  looking  for  something  else."  Whether  the  silent 
whisper  had  been  heard  by  the  other  woman,  too,  at  the 
same  instant  she  could  not  guess,  but  Elsa  called  to  her: 

"  Good-bye.     I  have  to  go  this  way." 

And  she  did  go,  though  not  by  the  path,  but  through  the 
woods,  as  the  man  had  gone.  Jessie  stood  still,  her  eyes 
following  the  slight  figure  winding  in  and  out  among  the 
trees.  She  came  slowly  into  the  path,  and  went  along 
the  way  she  had  come.  At  the  station  she  sat  on  a  bench 
outside,  her  green  trophies  on  her  knees,  waiting  for 
the  train,  and  presently  a  car  came  up  and  the  lady  of 
the  woods  alighted,  said  a  word  to  the  chauffeur  and 


THE   BLACK   DROP  199 

dismissed  him.  He  drove  away,  and  she  crossed  the  plat 
form  at  the  front  of  the  station  within  a  yard  of  Jessie, 
and  went  in  to  the  ticket  office.  She  could  hardly  have 
helped  seeing  the  solitary  figure  with  its  lapful  of  green. 
Yet  she  did  not  apparently  look,  she  did  not  speak,  and 
after  a  minute  or  two,  when  Jessie  took  the  train,  she 
saw  her  getting  into  the  car  in  front  of  her.  And  she 
carried  no  green  garlands  from  the  wood.  Jessie  felt 
bruised  and  miserable.  Had  they  seen  how  stupid  she  was 
and  somehow  taken  advantage  of  her  dulness?  They  had, 
she  thought,  "  played  it  on  her."  But  who  were  they  and 
what  was  it  they  had  played? 


XX 

NORRIS  was  doing  a  strange  thing.  While  the  family 
thought  of  him  as  writing  on  his  novel  —  for  there  was 
always  a  novel  going  —  he  was  writing  out  the  character 
of  Charles,  partly  as  he  knew  it  from  acquaintance,  partly 
as  he  had  begun  to  guess  at  it.  He  was  one  of  those  who, 
accustomed  to  the  illuminative  use  of  the  pen,  can  hardly 
think  without  it,  and  often  smiled  in  remembering  a  seam 
stress  of  his  father's  early  days  who  would  enter  upon  no 
sartorial  problem  until  she  had  put  on  her  thimble.  Norris 
took  the  Voice  now  and  read  it,  every  word,  and  he  was 
puzzled  and  afraid:  afraid  for  Charles  who  was  so 
mysteriously  clever  in  getting  the  suffrages  of  the  crowd. 
How  did  Charles  know  where  to  strike  the  underlying 
desires  of  base  men,  like  a  diviner  with  his  rod,  and  how  was 
he  skilful  enough  to  wrap  his  propaganda  in  such  phrases 
that,  as  they  followed,  they  strutted  and  grew  wiser  in 
their  own  conceit.  They  weren't  ashamed  of  being  de 
tected  in  conspiracy  against  the  world.  They  said :  "  Lo  ! 
here  is  a  man  who  sees  us  as  we  are  and  the  just  rewards 
we  are  bent  on,  rewards  we  hardly  dreamed  we  could  have. 
We  never  knew  there  were  such  golden  apples  in  the  world 
as  these  he  is  going  to  shake  down,  or,  if  we  did  know  it, 
we  thought  they  were  the  spoils  of  greater  opportunity. 
He  promises  us  a  new  heaven  and  a  new  earth,  and  both 
we  shall  inherit,  we,  plain  men  who  expected  no  more 
than  to  see  the  idle  rich  ride  by  to  more  colossal 
fortune."  There  were  other  sorts  who  believed  in  Charles, 
the  pure  in  heart  and  correspondingly  vague  of  mind, 

200 


THE    BLACK   DROP  201 

who  could  swear  by  a  word  so  long  as  it  was  a  good  word 
like  love,  justice,  peace,  and  eat  and  drink  the  word  and 
look  up  raptly  to  see  it  printed  in  the  heavens  while  their 
feet  stumbled  along  the  disordered  ways  of  earth. 
Charles,  counting  these  two  sorts  of  disciples,  the  sinner 
and  the  saint,  was  getting  an  enormous  following.  He 
was  asked  to  speak  at  clubs,  and  though  nobody  had  known 
he  had  any  rhetorical  gift,  he  talked  of  love  and  peace  and 
was  acceptable. 

Norris  read  the  Voice  with  a  determination  to  clear  its 
paths  from  the  tangle  of  words  and  chart  out  its  policy. 
He  did  get  some  definite  general  tendencies.  Charles  was 
continuing  as  he  had  begun.  He  still  omitted  no  oppor 
tunity  to  call  attention  to  America's  lofty  ideal  of  a  stable 
peace,  even  though  the  rest  of  the  world  were  cracking  into 
chaos.  He  still  compared  the  clear  air  of  western  progress 
with  the  foul  winds  that  beat  across  Europe,  blowing  up 
war.  He  drew  glowing  pictures  of  what  America  could 
do  for  this  same  sodden  Europe  when,  after  her  debauch 
of  blood,  she  had  to  be  reconstructed  and  admonished  by 
her  sister  across  the  ocean.  Always  the  implication  ran, 
America  is  too  noble  to  dip  her  clean  hand  in  blood.  Do 
not  go  to  war.  He  drew  an  affrighted  picture  of  the  evil 
might  of  Germany.  Therefore,  again,  since  she  was  all 
but  omnipotent,  do  not  go  to  war.  He  sorrowed  over 
England's  lamentable  arrogance,  her  tyranny  on  the  seas, 
and  indicated,  still  sorrowfully,  that  America  could  never 
ally  herself  with  policies  of  that  complexion.  Therefore, 
so  far  as  being  her  ally  on  the  seas  and  in  the  trenches 
is  concerned,  do  not  go  to  war.  Charles  was,  in  short, 
putting  sand  in  the  works,  and  so  cleverly  that  while  he 
slipped  it  in  he  seemed  to  be  oiling  up  and  keeping  the 
wheels  going. 


202  THE   BLACK   DROP 

Now  here  was  a  man  Norris  had  let  loose  on  the  world, 
and  the  man  was  not  creating  it  anew  that  future  genera 
tions  might  call  it  good.  He  was  undermining  it,  bur 
rowing  in  it,  piping  it  with  the  vitriol  of  evil  communica 
tions,  and  all,  though  thus  far  mysteriously,  to  the  ad 
vancement  of  himself.  His  father  thought  him  over  and 
over,  as  if  he  had  been  a  boy  of  ten  who  had  got  into  dirty 
ways,  and  wondered  what  to  do  with  him.  And  as  he 
had  done  repeatedly,  in  the  days  of  the  very  young  Charles, 
he  called  in  Emily.  He  went  to  the  head  of  the  stairs 
and  shouted  for  her  and  she  came,  hurrying. 

"Doing  anything?  "  he  asked  and  received  her  where  he 
stood,  took  her  hand  and  smoothed  it  as  he  led  her  into 
his  room.  "  I  mustn't  bellow  like  that  if  it's  going  to  start 
you  up  and  make  you  scatter  like  a  mother  hen.  But  I 
have  to  bellow,  you  know,  when  I  need  you."  He  put  her 
into  the  chair  by  the  fire  and  then  shut  the  door  and 
took  the  twin  chair  which  he  drew  near  enough,  Emily 
saw,  to  touch  her  hand  while  he  should  break  something 
to  her.  By  this  she  knew  he  was  quite  sentimental.  He 
was  going  to  tell  her  something  that  made  him  sorry 
for  her. 

"  You're  not  worried?  "  she  said,  "  about  John?  He's 
better  this  morning  and  fretting  to  get  up ;  but  it  bothered 
me  so  he  promised  not  to." 

"  No,"  said  Norris,  "  I'm  not  worried  about  John.  I'm 
worried  about  Charles." 

Then  he  did  put  his  hand  on  hers  where  she  had  left 
it  conveniently  on  the  arm  of  the  chair,  to  save  him  trouble, 
and  she  knew  they  both  had  to  be  sorry. 

"  Charles,  you  see,"  said  Norris,  wobbling  a  little  be 
cause  he  really  didn't  know  how  to  begin,  "  Charles  is 
behaving  badly."  And  that  sounded  so  sickly  that  he 


THE    BLACK    DROP  203 

immediately  amended  it.  "  The  plain  truth  is,  he's  act 
ing  like  the  devil." 

The  soft  hand  under  his  did  not  stir  by  an  involuntary 
quiver.  He  wondered  if  Emily  knew  it  —  knew  more  than 
he  did  —  or  how  she  always  managed  to  keep  her  calm. 

"  What  is  he  doing?  "  she  asked,  and  her  voice  also  was 
unmoved. 

"  He's  running  his  paper  —  you  know  he  bought  the 
Voice?  " 

"  Oh,  yes.     I  knew  that." 

"  Well,  he's  running  it  in  a  way  to  run  us  all  into  the 
ground,  if  we  don't  understand  and  discount  it  and  see 
it's  propaganda." 

"  Is  it  propaganda  ?  "  asked  Emily. 

"  Yes,  of  the  deadliest  sort.  Emily,  Charles  isn't 
straight.  He  never  has  been,  he  never  will  be  —  She 

made  a  little  murmur  here  and  he  knew  it  was  the  mother 
in  her,  passionately  asserting  itself,  against  experience 
and  reason,  to  cry,  he  would  be  straight,  he  might.  The 
future  was  his  anyway,  the  mother  heart  declared. 

"  We've  covered  it  up,"  Norris  went  on,  inexorable  even 
to  the  irresponsible  spirit  in  him,  too,  that  bade  him  let 
the  boy  alone.  He'd  grow  out  of  it.  Boys  did  grow. 
"  We've  taken  every  incident  by  itself,  ever  since  he  was 
little.  We've  said, '  Charles  hasn't  done  the  straight  thing 
this  time,  but  this  time  doesn't  count.'  It's  like  our  using 
palliatives  for  John's  lameness.  We  deaden  the  pain  for 
him  and  keep  him  in  bed,  and  that's  the  best  we  know. 
But  if  we  found  a  heroic  remedy,  a  thing  that  would  cure 
him  for  good  and  all,  why,  we'd  use  it,  wouldn't  we?  no  mat 
ter  how  much  it  cost  us,  no  matter  what  it  cost  him." 

Here  she  interrupted  him,  but  at  a  tangent  that  pulled 
him  away  from  Charles.  It  wasn't  artifice.  He  had 


204  THE    BLACK   DROP 

touched  a  spring  of  eager  credulity  and  hope  and  she 
couldn't  keep  it  down. 

"  Norris,  sometimes  I  wonder  —  about  John,  you  know 
—  this  young  Triphammer  says  his  doctor  can  see  into 
the  very  tissues  themselves  — 

"  So  can  the  X-ray,"  said  Norris  compassionately. 
"  But  I'm  talking  about  Charles.  In  the  past,  up  to 
about  now,  Charles's  being  crooked  didn't  seem  to  matter 
much  except  to  us  —  all  of  us,  and  Helen  —  but  now  he's 
got  a  following.  He's  a  leader,  Emily.  He's  got  the 
pacifists  and  the  pro-Germans  and  the  Anglophobes  and 
labor  —  oh,  he's  got  labor.  You  ought  to  see  the  way 
he  fats  'em  up." 

"  I  know,"  said  Emily,  in  a  low  tone.     "  I  read  it." 

"  Do  you  read  the  Voice?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Well,  doesn't  it  mean  just  that  —  what  I've  been  tell 
ing  you?  Or  doesn't  it?  " 

"  It  seemed  to  me,"  said  Emily  slowly,  "  some  of  it  —  a 
good  deal  of  it  —  beautiful." 

"  That's  it.  But  did  it  seem  true?  Did  it  have  any  gran 
ite  in  it  —  something  you  could  build  on  —  or  was  it  all 
hot  air?  Vapor,  you  know,  prett}^  colored  and  ah1  that?  " 

"  I  don't  care  about  it,"  said  Emily  bravely.  "  It  isn't 
what  you  and  grandsir  say,  —  and  John.  But  of  course 
Charles  may  see  things  differently." 

"  He  does  see  them  differently,"  said  Norris.  There 
was  a  grimness  in  his  air  and  she  looked  at  him  from  an 
appealing  deprecation.  "  I  haven't  the  least  idea  Charles 
cares  a  hang  which  way  the  country  goes,  or  whether 
England  and  France  are  run  over  and  devoured,  so  long 
as  he  comes  out  on  top.  He's  advancing  himself,  don't 
you  see?  He's  making  the  people  lift  him  on  their  shoul- 


THE   BLACK   DROP  205 

ders  and  carry  him  somewhere.  He's  of  the  type  that 
get  carried  because  they  crawl  up  to  men's  shoulders  and 
hang  on  and  you  have  to  take  'em  along.  And  the  worst 
of  it  is,  you  take  them  where  they  like  and  they  can  make 
you  think  it's  somewhere  you  want  to  go." 

He  had  forgotten  to  keep  that  comforting  hand  on 
Emily's  and  she  withdrew  hers  and  clasped  it  upon  the 
other  in  her  lap.  He  hated  his  job  worse  than  he  had 
ever  hated  one.  In  the  first  place,  Norris  frankly  dis 
liked  to  talk,  except  in  his  careless,  chaffing  way.  He 
was  stingy  of  his  best  thoughts,  though  that  was 
only  because  he  was  a  lazy  fellow.  He  liked  to  keep  them 
by  him  as  a  collector  keeps  his  gems  and,  when  he  was 
alone,  take  them  out  and  luxuriate  in  the  depth  and  shine 
of  them.  But  he  had  resolved  to  meet  this  issue  squarely, 
and  it  was  John  who  had  made  him.  He  meant  to  put 
the  family  idea  to  the  test. 

"  I've  been  thinking  of  this  from  something  John  said," 
he  began,  and  Emily  interrupted  him : 

"  Oh,  I  wish  John  liked  him  better." 

"  Liked  Charles  ?  He  likes  him  well  enough,  better'n 
Charles  deserves.  But  that  wasn't  what  I  meant.  Don't 
vou  know  what  John  was  saying  that  day —  about  fam 
ilies  and  how  they  hedge  and  beat  the  devil  round  the  stump 
and  get  so  used  to  whitewashing  one  another  they're  like 
graven  images  sitting  up  and  grinning  at  their  own  un 
reality?  No,  no,  I  know  he  didn't  say  that,  but  — 

"You  get  carried  away,"  said  Emily.  "You're  so 
clever.  That's  the  trouble  with  writing  books.  Say  it 
so  I  can  understand  it,  dear." 

This  was  a  slap  and  he  stared  at  her  before  he  laughed 
in  perfect  admiration  of  the  innocence  of  her  while  she 
gave  it. 


206  THE    BLACK   DROP 

"  Hereafter,"  he  said,  "  I'm  going  to  dedicate  my  stuff 
to  you.  '  To  my  wife,  my  sternest  critic.'  No,  but 
Emily,  child,  be  good.  See  what  a  hole  we're  in.  We're 
all  in  the  pit  together,  and  it  looks  as  if  it's  up  to  you 
and  me  to  drag  us  out.  You  see,  you  and  I  called  Charles 
out  of  the  unknown.  That's  the  devil  of  it.  We're  re 
sponsible.  We  didn't  know  what  we  were  getting,  but  we 
beckoned  and  he  came.  Just  he  came,  Charles  and  no 
body  else.  We  invited  him  here.  He's  ours." 

He  was  putting  her  through  an  anguished  minute,  and 
yet  there  was  some  assuaging  in  it,  too.  A  great  many  of 
these  minutes  she  had  had  in  her  life,  enough  to  count 
up  to  a  little  life  of  their  own,  and  she  had  borne  them  in 
her  heart,  wondering  what  she  had  done  or  left  undone. 
Was  it  a  prenatal  curse  that  made  Charles  what  he 
was,  an  outlaw  from  his  birth:  always  repudiating  the 
accepted  laws  and  following  base  expedients  of  persuasion, 
of  delicate  craft  that  seemed  to  promise  his  reigning  su 
preme  in  that  kingdom  he  was  making,  where  he  never 
could  see  he  was  alone?  And  yet,  except  for  other  out 
laws  of  varying  degree,  he  was  alone  and  out  of  that  had 
sprung  her  sharpest  agonies.  And  now  Norris  was,  if 
not  suffering  the  same  pangs,  recognizing  them  as  some 
thing  unspeakable,  and  she  was  briefly  comforted.  So  the 
patient  draws  an  easier  breath  when  the  doctor  tells  him 
his  disease  has  been  classified  long  ago,  even  if  it  may 
not  be  cured.  Others  have  charted  the  dread  way. 

"  I  don't  see,"  she  said  falteringly,  "  how  we  could  have 
done  more  for  Charles  —  or  done  better." 

"  I  don't  either.  But  whatever  it  was,  it's  been  no  use. 
He's  swept  on,  like  a  disease.  And  now,  you  see,  he  doesn't 
threaten  us.  He  threatens  the  country.  He  threatens 
the  world." 


THE   BLACK   DROP  207 

"  Oh,"  said  Emily,  plucking  up  heart  because  he  leaped 
so  far  in  a  breath,  "  Charles  hasn't  such  an  influence  as  all 
that." 

"  Emily,  do  you  realize  how  many  thousand  readers 
Charles  reaches  every  morning?  Do  you  realize  it's  like 
his  waking  up  all  those  men  and  whispering  to  them :  '  Let 
me  tell  you  what  I've  found  out  since  yesterday  '  ?  And  if 
he  tells  them  what's  happening  round  them  and  what's 
happening  on  the  other  side  of  the  water,  and  doctors  it 
a  little  so  their  opinions  are  formed  before  they  know 
they've  got  any — don't  you  see  what  power  he  has?" 

"  Yes,  but  there  are  the  other  papers  — 

"  We're  not  talking  about  the  other  papers.  We're 
talking  about  Charles,  because  he's  our  Charles  and  be 
cause  we  conspired  to  get  him  here  out  of  our  ancestral 
past,  wherever  that  was.  Charles  may  be  the  cave  man 
that  started  your  dear  old  father  on  the  track  of  life.  He 
may  be  me  somewhere  back  there  where  I  sloughed  off  one 
of  my  skins.  Anyway,  he's  our  Charles  and  we've  got  to 
do  something." 

"  You  make  it  horrible,"  she  said.  "  So  big,  so  black ! 
You  make  me  feel  lost  — 

"  Don't  be  lost,  dear,"  said  Norris.  He  took  her  hand 
from  its  despairing  grip  on  the  other  and  kept  it. 
"  You're  right  here  and  you're  a  game  old  girl.  Think 
how  game  you  were  when  you  had  your  babies  and  I  cried 
like  a  seal.  Now,  so  far  as  I  see,  Charles  has  got  to  be 
born  again  and  we're  the  ones  to  help  him  through." 

"  I  can't  see,"  said  Emily  desperately,  "  why  it  may  not 
be  he  really  does  believe  the  things  he's  saying.  A  lot  of 
other  people  believe  them.  Look  at  his  following.  You 
say  yourself  he's  got  a  following." 

"  He   doesn't   believe   the   things,"   said   Norris   briefly, 


208  THE    BLACK   DROP 

"  simply  because  he  doesn't.  Charles  is  a  politician  right 
through.  He's  yellow." 

"  Oh!  "  she  cried,  but  Norris  hated  his  job  so  beyond 
measure  now  that  he  was  determined  he'd  finish  it  up. 

"  And  when  you  say  politician  in  a  derogatory  sense, 
same  as  I've  used  it  against  Charles,  what  do  you  mean? 
You  mean,  when  the  man  does  anything  you  don't  accept 
it  as  an  isolated  act.  You  try  to  see  what  he's  going  to 
get  by  it.  And  you  can't  measure  its  effect  until  you  do 
see." 

"  Oh,"  she  cried,  "  I  don't  think  that's  fair." 

"To  call  him  a  politician?     Why  not?  " 

"  I  don't  think  it's  fair  to  them.  Think  what  a  lot  of 
perfectly  splendid  men  are  in  politics  — 

"  Well,"  said  Norris,  "  then  if  we're  going  to  quarrel 
with  the  word  —  and  I  own  it  has  its  other  meaning  —  I'll 
change  it.  I'll  say  he  is  a  crook." 

She  made  no  answer,  but  now  he  did  feel  her  hand  under 
his  tighten  itself  and  he  understood.  He  had  given  her 
son  an  evil  name.  She  would  remember  that. 

"  Now,"  said  Norris,  proceeding  with  his  discomfiting 
task,  "what  are  we  going  to  do?  " 

"  It  never  has  done  any  good,"  said  she,  "  to  talk  to 
Charles." 

"  Never.  And  we  sha'n't  have  any  better  luck  now. 
Only,  are  we  going  to  stand  up  to  it  and,  when  the  thing 
comes  out,  stand  up  to  Charles?  For  it's  got  to  come 
out.  It's  bound  to." 

"  You  talk,"  said  Emily  desperately,  "  as  if  there  were 
something  definite,  something  more  than  his  saying  things 
in  the  paper." 

"  There  is,"  said  Norris.  "  The  amount  of  it  is,  Charles 
wouldn't  say  those  things  if  he  wasn't  paid." 


THE    BLACK   DROP  209 

"  Paid?     Who's  paying  him?  " 

"  Germany." 

"  Oh,  no,  no  !  "  She  got  out  of  her  chair  and  stood  look 
ing  at  him.  She  was  trembling  violently.  "  No  !  no  !  " 
she  said  again  and  then  bit  her  lip  to  silence,  because  she 
was  dazed  into  feeling  she  must  go  on  foolishly  and  wildly 
saying  no. 

She  turned  away  and  went  blindly  toward  the  door,  and 
Norris  got  up  and  followed  her.  He  put  his  arm  about 
her  and  held  her  there. 

"My  dear,"  he  said,  "don't  take  it  like  that.  I 
shouldn't  have  told  you.  But  he's  yours,  too,  you  know." 

"  Yes,"  said  Emily,  "  he  is  mine."  She  said  it  as  if 
she  merely  agreed  with  him ;  but  some  passionate  mother 
spring  in  her  had  been  touched,  and  for  the  instant  she 
could  have  cried  out  that  he  was  hers  alone.  She  turned 
her  wet  face  to  him  and  tried  to  make  him  see  she  didn't 
blame  him.  Fathers,  the  dearest  of  them,  couldn't  know. 
"  It's  only,"  she  said,  "  it's  only  —  some  of  it  —  a  sur 
prise." 

And  then  she  slid  away  from  his  arm  and  hurried  out, 
downstairs,  he  knew,  to  some  hiding  of  her  own. 

Norris  stood  there  and  thought.  He  hated  himself. 
He  wondered  if  he  could  have  done  differently.  Then  he 
went  up  to  see  his  father. 


XXI 

GRANDSIB,  exquisitely  turned  out  by  Erastus,  who  si 
lently  fostered  his  fastidiousness  in  personal  detail,  was 
at  his  table,  not  even  pretending  to  use  his  pencil  on  or 
chards  yet  to  be,  but  leaning  back  and  regarding  Erastus 
who  stood,  miserably  failing  to  meet  his  eyes. 

"  Now,  you  know,"  grandsir  was  saying  mildly,  "  I'm 
too  old  a  dog  to  have  my  skeleton  taken  apart  and  put 
together  again.  This  boy  thinks,"  he  continued  to  Norris, 
now  coming  in,  "  that  he's  got  a  wizard  up  his  sleeve. 
(Probably  hasn't  a  diploma  to  his  name !)  Anyhow  he  pulls 
folks  apart  and  sticks  'em  together  again,  and  Erastus 
wants  me  to  let  him  meddle  with  me." 

"  I  only  thought,"  began  Erastus,  but  got  no  further 
because  grandsir  raised  his  hand  and  pointed. 

"  You're  a  good  boy,"  said  he,  "  but  crazy  —  crazy  as 
a  loon.  You  go  now,  and  don't  come  back  till  the  baby's 
bedtime.  I  shall  go  by  seven." 

Erastus  went  sorrowfully,  and  grandsir  turned  to  his 
son  and  bade  him  sit  down. 

"He's  a  good  lad,"  he  said.  "Almost  makes  me  cry, 
he's  so  hurt  because  I'm  falling  apart  here  and  there.  I 
don't  think  I  strike  him  as  being  in  any  sense  a  valuable 
old  gentleman.  It's  because  he's  crazy  about  the  human 
body  and  the  way  it's  put  together." 

"What  is  this  doctor  he's  so  gone  over?"  Norris  in 
quired.  "Osteopath?" 

"  Yes,  and  Bones  —  I  don't  call  him  Erastus  except  be- 

210 


THE   BLACK   DROP  211 

fore  company  —  I  call  him  Bones  —  he  thinks  his  doctor 
is  God's  understudy.  God  made  and  Landis  patches  up 
after  Him.  Norris,  it's  a  funny  thing  to  be  old." 

Norris  gave  him  a  quick,  inquiring  glance.  Was  his 
father  really,  the  look  said,  going  to  break  that  silence 
which  had  lain  over  the  twilight  land  he  had  been  living 
in,  these  meagre  years,  with  such  dignity  and  unspoken 
acquiescence? 

"  Even  your  ears  feel  queer,"  said  grandsir.  "  They've 
tightened  up  somehow.  Your  voice  doesn't  sound  in  'em 
as  it  used  to.  And  going  downstairs  —  it's  an  adventure. 
I've  been  thinking  of  it  for  an  hour.  I  want  to  go  down 
and  see  John  now  he  can't  get  up  here,  and  I  swear  I 
dread  it  so  I'm  afraid." 

"  You  look  awfully  fit,"  Norris  ventured,  and  immedi 
ately  he  saw  the  veil  of  reticence  renewed  upon  his  father's 
eyes.  He  had,  in  his  fumbling  compassion,  met  grand- 
sir  with  one  of  the  commonplaces  intended,  in  the  family, 
to  make  things  go,  and  grandsir  had  repented  his  impulsive 
candor. 

"  Well !  well ! "  said  he,  "  I  dare  say  I  shall  get  down 
sometime  in  the  course  of  the  forenoon.  You  seen  John?  " 

"  No.  I've  been  giving  Emily  a  bad  quarter  of  an  hour. 
Wish  I  hadn't.  It's  never  any  good.  I  told  her  Charles 
was  going  to  the  devil,  and  asked  her  what  we  could  do 
about  it." 

"  Charles  has  gone  to  the  devil,"  said  grandsir.  "  He 
went  some  time  ago.  What  particular  devil  did  you  refer 
to?" 

"  Well,  John,  you  know,  thinks  he's  been  bought  for 
propaganda.  Thinks  he's  in  the  pay  of  Germany." 

Grandsir  nodded,  and  Norris,  impatient  at  finding  him 
so  unmoved,  ended  irritably : 


THE    BLACK   DROP 

"  You  don't  seem  surprised.     Has  John  been  at  you?  " 

"  No,  it  isn't  John,"  said  grandsir  slowly,  "  it's  Charles. 
He  couldn't  surprise  me." 

"  Well,  what  do  you  know  about  all  this?  " 

"  Nothing,  except  the  way  he's  carrying  on  in  the 
Voice.  What  does  John  know?  " 

"  Nothing  —  but  the  Voice.  Oh,  yes,  and  he  thinks 
because  Charles  has  bought  up  Brennan  and  Finch  and 
Bailey  and  isn't  using  any  of  their  stuff,  he  did  it  to  keep 
them  from  placing  it  anywhere  else.  They've  been  red 
hot,  you  know." 

"  Sizzling.  So's  John.  Do  you  know  anything  about 
that  woman  that's  been  trotting  round  with  Charles?  " 

"  No.     Never  saw  her.     Don't  want  to." 

"  Well,  what  about  Charles  anyway?  What  have  you 
done  ?  What  you  going  to  do  ?  " 

Norris  was  not  prepared  with  any  answer  to  that.  At 
least,  if  he  had  known  in  advance  that  the  question  was 
to  be  put  to  him,  he  would  have  owned  himself  stumped. 
But  as  if  his  tongue  moved  in  obedience  to  some  inner 
witness  he  hadn't  called  and  now  didn't  even  recognize,  he 
answered : 

"  Look  for  proof  against  him.  And,  if  there  is  proof, 
doesn't  that  mean  giving  him  up  to  justice?  " 

He  looked,  in  his  surprise  over  himself,  at  grandsir,  to 
see  how  this  was  taken,  and  their  eyes  met  and  held. 
Grandsir  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"  I  see,"  he  said.  Then  he  offered,  tentatively,  "  Roman 
father?  " 

"  Don't  chaff,"  said  Norris  quickly. 

"  No,  no.  I'm  only  thinking  you're  in  for  something 
big  —  and  queer.  For  you  can't  question  him,  or  you'll 
only  put  him  on  his  guard  and  make  him  more  dangerous 


THE    BLACK   DROP  213 

because  more  underhand.  And  if  you're  going  to  give 
him  over  to  the  law  —  well,  I  don't  know." 

"  Father,"  said  Norris,  in  a  bitter  outburst,  "  he  can't 
do  these  things.  I  can't  let  him.  He's  my  son." 

"  No,"  said  grandsir,  "  no.  But  I  suppose  I  was  think 
ing  of  Emily  —  and  Helen." 

"  I'm  thinking  of  Emily,  too,"  said  Norris  hotly. 
"  Don't  you  suppose  I'm  thinking  of  Emily?  But  here's 
my  son  and  he's  doing  his  best  to  undermine  every  damned 
thing  the  few  decent-minded  people  are  standing  for.  And 
he's  got  that  disproportionate  influence  everybody  has 
who  can  get  into  print.  It's  horrible,  father,  this  power 
of  the  printed  word.  It's  criminal." 

"  Yes,"  said  grandsir  thoughtfully,  "  though  it's  benefi 
cent,  too,  sometimes." 

Norris  stared  before  him,  yet  hardly  conscious  of  what 
he  saw. 

"  You're  not  with  me,"  he  said.  "  If  we  had  the  evi 
dence  here  on  that  table,  you  wouldn't  use  it.  It's  be 
cause  Charles  belongs  to  us.  He's  our  family.  And  the 
family's  defensive.  It's  got  so  used  to  hanging  together 
it  will  hang  against  the  law." 

Grandsir  didn't  answer  him  for  a  long  minute.  He  sat 
looking  down  at  the  table  where  his  fingers  were  drumming 
a  noiseless  call.  Or  was  it  a  tattoo  of  mourning  for  dead 
hopes?  He  knew  he  had  disappointed  Norris  profoundly. 
Grandsir  was  quite  aware  of  his  position  in  the  family. 
He  knew  —  and  wondered,  because  he  retained  a  mildly 
ironic  estimate  of  his  own  value  —  how  they  looked  to  him 
for  the  wisdom  they  were  doubtful  of  finding  among  them 
selves.  Often  he  played  up  to  their  expectations  with  a 
didactic  gravity  which  was  as  funny  to  him,  tottering,  as 
lie  believed,  on  the  brink  of  his  own  predestined  abyss,  as 


214  THE    BLACK   DROP 

it  was  admirable  to  them.  But  he  realized  again  to-day 
that  they  knew  nothing  about  the  intermittent  paralysis 
of  growing  old.  It  came  in  waves,  and  every  wave  was 
higher.  With  the  ninth  wave  he  would  be  engulfed. 
There  were  weeks  when  his  former  self  sat  composed  and 
did  its  beneficent  tasks,  which  he  was  careful  not  to  recog 
nize  at  their  true  value  as  fictions  to  fill  up  the  time,  and 
then,  without  warning,  just  as  the  hopeful  self  within  him 
had  begun  to  wonder  if  there  mightn't  after  all  be  an 
elixir,  if,  by  taking  thought,  you  couldn't  stay  the  moving 
finger,  another  wave  was  upon  him  and  he  was  scrambling 
breathless  up  the  sand,  alive  still,  but  a  little  more  clearly 
cognizant  of  perils  underfoot.  And  this  was  the  day 
after  a  wave.  "  I  understand  the  Roman  father  business," 
he  could  have  said.  "  It's  magnificent.  It's  even  better 
than  that.  It's  simple  decency.  But  it's  possible  at  the 
age  of  fathers  only,  not  grandfathers.  As  for  me,  I  can't 
go  with  you  to  your  sacrifice.  I've  had  enough  of  looking 
on  at  tears." 

Norris  rose  from  his  chair. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  after  all,  we've  nothing,  as  yet,  to 
act  on :  nothing  but  the  evidence  of  the  Voice." 

"  If  you  see  John,"  said  grandsir,  "  tell  him  I'll  come 
down  by  and  by,  if  he  likes." 

But  Norris  didn't  go  in  to  see  John.  As  he  got  to  the 
room,  a  small  procession  was  filing  in,  Brennan,  Bailey 
and  Finch,  who  had  met  Jessie  in  the  street  and  been 
told,  with  a  persuasive  picturesqueness,  how  John  was 
laid  by  the  heels.  That  decided  them  on  a  resolution 
of  long  debate :  that  they  would  not  be  dropped.  They 
would  be  spoken  to,  or  they'd  speak  to  him,  even  if  they 
had  sold  themselves  to  the  Voice,  which  wasn't,  after 
all,  criminal :  only  asinine,  as  the  sequel  proved.  And  if 


THE   BLACK   DROP  215 

there  was  a  way  into  a  thing,  wasn't  there  also  a  way  out? 
Emily  had  asked  John  if  they  could  come  up  and  he  had 
hesitated  a  sulky  minute.  He  had  missed  them  tremen 
dously.  He  did  want  them  back.  But  this  he  neither 
hinted  to  Emily  or  himself.  Yes,  he  said,  they  could  come. 

Bailey  appeared  first  and  made  his  propitiatory  on 
slaught  : 

"  Well,  old  son !  Now  don't  talk.  We  don't  want  to 
hear  anything  about  it.  You  needn't  tell  us  we  plumped 
into  the  soup  when  we  took  on  your  Charles.  But  don't 
you  worry.  He's  got  nothing  on  us." 

"  He  isn't  publishing  you,"  said  John.  "  And  I'm  glad 
of  it.  Serves  you  right." 

Brennan,  who  had  the  usual  flat  package  under  his  arm, 
laid  it  on  the  foot  of  the  bed,  untied  it  and  took  out  a 
drawing.  This  he  prepared  to  display  at  the  indicated 
moment. 

"  You're  right,"  he  said.  "  He  isn't  publishing  us. 
And  we've  struck." 

"  You  can't  strike.  You're  under  contract  to  furnish 
him  something  every  week." 

"  We're  doing  it,"  said  Brennan,  "  and  we're  going  to 
keep  on  doing  it  until  he  gets  so  mighty  sick  of  the  contract 
he'll  be  the  first  to  tear  it  up.  Go  ahead,  Finch." 

Finch  came  up  and  ranged  himself  by  Brennan.  They 
hadn't  sat  down.  Somehow,  in  their  dogged,  grouped 
persistency  in  explaining  themselves,  they  were  funny  to 
John,  and  yet  he  felt  a  choking  over  them,  too.  They 
were  good  chaps,  and  he  and  they  had  had  some  of  their 
prettiest  sprints  together. 

"We're  doing  a  series,"  said  Finch.  "Brennan  does 
the  cartoon,  T  do  a  fable  and  Bailey  writes  a  pome." 

"  It's  called,"  said  Bailey,  who  had  now  sat  down  on  the 


216  THE    BLACK   DROP 

corner  of  John's  work-table  and  was  swinging  his  feet, 
" '  The  Man  without  a  Country.'  " 

"  Oh,  rot !  "  said  John.  "  Don't  pinch  things  that  have 
been  done  once.  That  was  A  Number  One  then.  What 
do  you  want  to  muddle  it  up  for  now?  That's  never  any 
good." 

"Oh,  no,"  said  Bailey,  enjoying  himself.  "It  isn't 
E.  E.  Kale's.  We've  swiped  the  title,  that's  all.  This 
is  ours.  Go  ahead,  Finch." 

"  It's  simply,"  said  Finch,  "  the  story  of  your  Charles. 
He's  the  man  without  a  country.  We've  thought  up  all 
the  lurid  things  he'd  do  if  he  thought  of  'em,  and  strung 
'em  together  and  given  him  the  leading  role,  doing  'em. 
I  see  him  putting  that  into  his  paper.  Go  ahead,  Bren- 
nan.  Exhibit  A." 

Brennan  set  the  cartoon  up  before  John,  and  John 
looked  and  began  to  laugh,  and  the  laugh  shook  him  and 
momentarily  hurt.  This  was  Guido  Reni's  Aurora,  and 
Charles  was  the  flying  figure  bringing  in  the  daAvn.  Noth 
ing  could  have  been  funnier  than  the  flying  Charles,  every 
significant  line  of  his  face  knocked  slightly  out  of  plumb 
to  make  a  leering  Charles,  a  Charles  whose  torch  belched 
smoke  and  lurid  flame  and  went  up  in  words,  words  of 
the  most  divine  significance,  all  which  Charles  had  lately 
been  using  in  the  Voice.  The  sparks  from  the  torch  fell, 
and  tiny  cities  were  ignited  by  them,  and,  if  you  looked 
closely,  you  saw  the  cities  were  marked  Belgium,  France, 
but  never  Germany.  The  second  cartoon  showed  Charles 
grinning  like  a  cave  man,  brutalized,  unkempt,  placing  the 
bomb  at  a  munition  shop.  Here  John  did  protest,  the 
power  of  it  was  so  terrible,  the  accusation  so  tremendous. 

"  But  see  here,  fellows,  you're  going  some.  He  is  play 
ing  tricks  with  the  paper,  but  this  —  this  — 


THE    BLACK    DROP  217 

Bailey  slid  off  the  table  and  joined  the  two  at  the  foot  of 
the  bed. 

"  Oh,  but  that's  it,"  he  cried.  "  Don't  you  see,  we've 
got  together  all  the  stock  things  and  fastened  'em  on  him? 
Make  him  as  mad  as  ten  devils.  If  we'd  got  any  evidence, 
don't  you  see,  we'd  do  something  different.  We'd  give 
it  in  to  the  D.  of  J.  But  this  is  just  to  make  him  bust  his 
b'iler  and  fire  us.  Go  ahead,  Brennie." 

Brennan  slipped  in  the  next,  and  at  this  John  did  gasp 
and  wonder.  It  was  Charles  in  pilot's  togs,  out  in  a 
raging  sea,  receiving  mail  from  a  submarine.  And  the 
mail  sacks  were  marked  plainly  "  Propaganda." 

"You  know,"  said  John,  "you  know—  And  there 
he  stopped.  He  couldn't  tell  them  this  was  coming  too 
near  home,  nor  what  he  had  gathered  from  the  evidence  of 
his  own  eyes  that  night  at  Grasslands.  They  had  hit  the 
truth  square  in  the  centre.  Charles  was  receiving  mail 
or  secret  communications  of  some  sort.  Should  they  be 
allowed  to  accuse  him,  warn  him,  indeed,  and  put  him  on  his 
guard  in  advance  of  John's  confirming  his  few  facts? 
"  See  here,"  he  said,  "  I  don't  believe  I'd  go  into  this." 

"Oh,  but  you  let  us  read  you  our  stuff,"  said  Bailey, 
cheerful  as  a  bird  that  sings  perpetual  April.  "  Go  ahead, 
Finch.  I'll  come  up  after  the  barrage." 

Finch  ran  through  his  short  fables  explicatory  of  the 
cartoons,  and  then  Bailey  read  his  verse,  enchanted  with 
it  himself,  and  breaking  off  after  a  stanza  to  look  up  like 
de  Pachman  at  the  piano  and  call : 

"Get  it,  Tracy?     Ain't  it  a  cracker-jack?" 

And  John  did  get  it  all  and  was,  he  said  to  Finch  after 
ward,  bowled  over  by  the  cleverness  of  it,  so  that  he  ven 
tured  not  a  word  further  to  recall  them  to  safer  sanities. 
Finch's  fables  bit  like  vitriol  and  seared  with  fire.  Bail- 


218  THE    BLACK    DROP 

ey's  verse  went  on,  wave  after  wave,  in  a  riotous  aban 
don.  His  metres  were  absurd  but  persuasive,  and  his 
rhymes  were  lawless  —  commander  and  propaganda,  peri 
scope  and  merry  hope  —  stuff  ground  out  to  fit  a  fleeting 
moment  and  yet  ground  in  a  mill  of  such  perfect  action 
that  you  couldn't  stop  to  have  the  produce  packed  in  cartons 
but  scooped  it  up  in  your  hands,  as  it  ran  from  the  hopper, 
and  choked  yourself  with  it,  laughing  as  you  gorged. 
When  they  had  finished,  they  stood  looking  at  John,  like 
dogs  that  had  done  their  tricks.  Their  faces  were  a  little  like 
dog  faces  then,  with  the  lifted  eyebrow  of  inquiry,  almost, 
you  would  have  said,  the  cocked  ear  of  hopeful  doubt. 

"  Oh,  get  along  with  you,"  said  John.  "  You  know  what 
kind  of  stuff  it  is.  It's  clever  as  the  devil.  I  can't  say 
anything  to  you.  Use  it  and  be  hanged." 

So  they  packed  up  the  fruits  of  their  excellent  invention 
and  went  away,  after  John  had  proposed  they  should  meet 
in  Bailey's  room  as  soon  as  he  was  out  again,  and  look 
the  landscape  over.  And  presently  Erastus  came  in  with 
a  letter.  It  had  been  brought  by  messenger.  It  was  from 
Jessie  and  was  brief.  She  told  him  she  had  herself  gone 
to  Grasslands  and  had  found  nothing.  She  didn't  report 
the  man  and  woman  who  had  also  been  hunting,  and  not 
for  ground  pine.  Jessie  couldn't  quite  bring  herself  to 
that,  in  advance  of  knowing  whether  John  was  suffering 
intolerably.  She  thought  she  might  defer  it  until  she 
knew.  John  lay  holding  the  letter  crushed  in  his  hand, 
surprised,  sorry,  more  disappointed  than  he  could  have 
believed.  But  the  surprise  was  a  part  of  that.  It  hadn't 
occurred  to  him  as  possible  the  bag  might  not  be  there. 
The  experience  of  a  whole  boyhood  bore  him  out  in  the 
certainty  that  a  thing  put  into  the  old  hidey-hole  simply 
waited  until  you  came  for  it,  or  until  the  rain  fell  and  the 


THE    BLACK   DROP  219 

brook  rose  and  carried  it  away,  usually  in  pulp.  And 
there  had  been  no  rain.  At  that  moment  he  moved,  im 
patient  of  his  state,  and  it  occurred  to  him,  as  it  comes 
to  the  ear  when  a  continuous  maddening  noise  has  ceased, 
that  the  pain  had  gone.  And  then  he  saw  that  Erastus 
had  slipped  in  and  was  noiselessly  placing  his  shoes  before 
a  chair,  as  if  he  expected  John  to  sit  there  and  put  them  on. 
"  Bones,"  said  John,  who  had  lost  no  time  in  adopting 
grandsir's  name  for  him,  "  I'm  going  to  get  up.  The  dev 
ilish  thing  has  stopped." 

"Yes,"  said  Bones,  unmoved.  With  his  accomplished 
career  in  view  when  he  would  occupy  a  position  as  good 
as  the  best,  he  never  said  "  sir."  "  I  thought  maybe. 
You've  been  laughing." 

John  had  thrown  off  the  clothes  and  set  his  foot  gin 
gerly  to  the  floor.  He  was  slow  in  trusting  it.  But  he  left 
it  there  and  turned  to  stare  at  Erastus. 

"  Laughing?     What's  that  got  to  do  with  it?  " 
Bones  spoke  respectfully  yet  with  firmness : 
"  It  snapped  in.      I  could  tell  by  the  look  of  your  face. 
Now  if  you'd  let  me  make  an  appointment  with  Doctor 
Landis  —  " 


XXII 

WHEN  Jessie,  perplexed  over  the  outcome  of  her  after 
noon  at  Grasslands,  got  home  with  a  fragrant  disorder  of 
ground  pine  in  her  hand,  she  found  Helen  at  the  door  of 
the  apartment,  waiting  for  her,  and  saw  at  once  that 
she  was  a  thought  outside  her  usual  calm.  She  received 
Jessie  in  a  flutter  of  welcome,  exclaimed  over  the  wood 
trophies  and  began  to  dispose  them  about  the  rooms,  and 
when  Jessie  came  back,  after  taking  off  her  things,  fell  on 
her  with  more  solicitude,  to  persuade  her  to  the  fire. 
Jessie  said  she  wasn't  cold;  the  afternoon  warmth  had 
lasted  even  after  the  sun  went  down.  But  Helen,  regard 
less  of  that,  offered  her  fire  again  and  assured  her  dinner 
would  be  ready  presently ;  and  now  Jessie  did  look  at  her 
with  the  arched  eyebrow  of  quizzical  protest. 

"  Very  nice,  Nell,"  she  said,  "  very  flattering.  But  un 
expected!  Just  why  do  I  find  myself  so  popular?" 

Helen  laughed  a  little,  though  she  kept  on  looking 
wistful. 

"  I  can't  help  it,"  she  said.     "  I  worried." 

"Why,  I  telephoned  you." 

"  I  know  it,  but  you  didn't  say  where  you  were  going. 
Where  did  you  go  ?  " 

"  Secrets,"  said  Jessie,  with  a  studied  ease.  "  Into  the 
country,  that's  all.  I'm  going  to  write  it  up,  the  woods 
in  winter,  that  kind  of  thing." 

"Who  sent  you?  Couldn't  you  have  taken  me?  And 
you  found  these  lovely  things.  I  believe  if  I  went  into  the 
woods  I  should  get  down  and  roll." 

220 


THE    BLACK   DROP  221 

"  You  shall,  the  next  pleasant  day.  But  you  needn't 
worry  about  me  when  I'm  overdue.  You  simply  mustn't. 
I've  gone  about  alone  for  ages,  you  know,  and  as  for  Over 
There  —  " 

Helen  stopped  her,  and  was  very  sweet  but  decisive.  It 
wasn't  good  for  Jessie  to  be  perpetually  thinking  about 
Over  There.  She  must  relax  from  the  ardor  of  that  terri 
ble  task  and  get  the  benefit  of  absence.  Then,  when  the 
moment  came,  they  would  both  go,  and  there  would  be  no 
more  rest  for  either  of  them. 

They  went  out  to  dinner,  and  had  it  cosily,  and  then 
came  back  to  the  flickering  after-glow  of  the  unnecessary 
fire,  and  Jessie  was  about  to  get  out  the  work-table  when 
Helen  stopped  her. 

"  Not  to-night,"  she  said.     "  I  want  to  talk." 

They  took  low  chairs  by  the  fire,  and  Helen  threw  on  a 
couple  of  sticks.  It  might  respond  ungraciously  by  mak 
ing  them  too  hot,  but  she  had  to  have  its  company  in  her 
task. 

"Jess,"  she  said,  "want  to  turn  out  the  lights?" 

Jessie  did  it.  Something,  she  knew,  was  coming.  She 
went  back  to  her  chair,  folded  her  hands  and  sat  still,  her 
eyes  on  the  fire.  She  had  never  ceased  wishing  Helen 
would  tell  her  some  of  the  things  that  might  make  their 
queer  life  simpler,  the  things  about  Charles.  And  now 
she  was  sure  it  was  coming  and  she  was  afraid  lest  they 
should  be  harder  to  deal  with  than  she  thought. 

"  I've  seen,  within  a  day  or  two,"  said  Helen,  "  that 
you'd  got  to  understand  something  about  my  leaving  him. 
I've  dragged  you  home  from  France  — 

"  No,"  said  Jessie,  in  a  hurry  to  reassure  her.  "  You 
never  dreamt  of  my  coming.  Maybe  you  didn't  really 
want  me  —  at  first.  I  came,  that's  all." 


THE    BLACK   DROP 

"  I  do  want  you,"  said  Helen.  "  I  want  you  awfully. 
But  I  don't  intend  to  let  you  in  for  things  you  aren't  pre 
pared  for.  Now  —  Charles  had  been  doing  things  he 
shouldn't,  things  he  couldn't  tell  me.  And  when  I  found 
them  out,  I  did  things  I  couldn't  tell  him." 

Jessie  turned  and,  in  the  half  light,  sat  staring  at  her. 
For  that  instant,  she  did  not  go  beyond  the  first  circle 
of  suspicion.  When  there  is  marital  division,  you  look 
for  diverted  love,  diverted  by  whom,  toward  whom?  Two 
tears  ran  down  her  cheeks,  big  splashing  drops  she  disre 
garded,  in  her  woeful  stare  at  Helen,  who  now  looked  up 
at  her  from  the  hand  she  had  been  absently  contemplating, 
where  her  wedding  ring  shone  securely. 

"  Why,  you  little  dear,"  she  said,  "  you  think  I  mean  — 
what  do  you  think  I  mean?     That  he  danced  away  from 
me  with  somebody  else,  and  then  I  danced  away  from  him? 
Heavens,  Jess !  there  are  other  kinds  of  things  that  come 
between  people." 

Jessie  couldn't  speak.  And  she  could  hardly  bear  it, 
she  thought,  if  she  was  to  be  told  anything  tawdry  had 
come  within  measurable  distance  of  touching  Helen. 

"  Charles,"  Helen  went  on,  her  voice  hardened  in  the 
measure  of  her  difficulty  in  forcing  it  into  this  confession, 
"has  been  doing  horrible  things.  He's  been  a  traitor." 

Jessie  was  completely  surprised. 

"How  could  he  be?"  she  asked.     "We're  not  at  war." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know  whether  it's  what  you  call  treason," 
said  Helen,  in  a  wearied  impatience,  as  if  she  herself  had 
tried  to  place  it  accurately  and  failed.  "  But  he's  been 
doing  secret  things  to  help  Germany.  It  may  not  be 
treason,  exactly.  As  you  say,  we're  not  at  war.  But 
he's  been  doing  them." 

"  What  things,  Helen  ?     What  sort  of  things  ?  " 


THE   BLACK   DROP  223 

"  Well,  some  of  them  were  connected  with  propaganda. 
There  were  secret  meetings." 

"Where?" 

"At  our  house  —  his  house." 

She  was  not  making  a  very  clear  story  of  it,  and  realized 
it,  and  caught  herself  back  to  the  beginning  as  she  had 
many  times  imagined  herself  telling  it. 

"  The  first  that  happened  was  that  he  fitted  up  the 
billiard  room  for  what  he  called  a  study.  The  billiard 
table  was  taken  out,  and  another  big  one  put  in,  a  sort  of 
library  table,  and  a  safe,  with  a  bookcase  in  front  of  it. 
And  I  discovered,  after  a  while,  that  he  didn't  want  me  up 
there.  You  know  we  began  by  telling  each  other  —  well, 
pretty  much  everything.  At  least  I  thought  it  was  every 
thing." 

"  Awful  spoons  you  were,"  said  Jessie  frankly.  "  I 
was  mad  as  hops  when  I  found  you  let  him  read  my  letters." 

"  One  day,  when  he  was  gone,  I  went  up  there,  and  I 
found  the  door  locked.  I  don't  know  what  I  wanted.  To 
see  the  room,  I  guess.  I  was  always  prowling  round.  I 
loved  the  house,  you  know.  And  when  he  came  home  I 
laughed  at  him  and  he  was  touchy  —  he'd  never  been  that, 
to  me  —  and  he  told  me  it  was  all  connected  with  business, 
and  I  shouldn't  understand  and  mustn't  bother  him,  and 
I  wasn't  to  tell  even  the  family  about  the  bookcase  and 
the  safe.  It  was  a  perfectly  commonplace  thing,  he  said, 
for  a  man  to  have  a  safe  in  his  house,  and  he  put  the  book 
case  there  not  to  spoil  the  look  of  the  room.  I  wasn't 
hurt ;  I  only  thought  it  was  funny,  and  I  made  up  my 
mind  I'd  do  something  ridiculous  to  let  him  see  I  could 
get  into  rooms  if  I  liked.  I'd  leave  something  there  — like 
a  play,  you  know.  There's  always  a  glove  or  a  lady's 
handkerchief  to  prove  things.  I  knew  I  could  get  the  key. 


224  THE    BLACK   DROP 

Charles  is  an  awfully  careless  person.  He  can't  help 
leaving  things  round." 

"Did  anybody  else  go  up  there?  anybody  but  him?" 

"  Yes,  five  or  six  men,  at  least  once,  sometimes  twice  a 
week.  They  came  in  in  perfect  silence.  Charles  himself 
would  let  them  in.  The  nights  they  were  to  come,  he'd 
give  Cross  an  evening  off." 

"  Did  you  see  them?  " 

"  No.  He  asked  me  to  stay  in  the  library  and  shut  the 
door.  He  laughed  about  that,  and  said  they  had  a  big 
business  deal  on  and  he'd  given  his  word  nobody  should 
know  who  they  were,  not  even  I.  He  said  the  deal's  going 
through  depended  absolutely  on  secrecy.  Otherwise  the 
newspapers  might  get  hold  of  it.  One  of  the  men,  he  said, 
was  an  old  stager  who'd  suffered  so  much  from  publicity 
that  he  wondered  he  didn't  wear  a  veil." 

"And  you  shut  yourself  up?  you  didn't  look?" 

"  Of  course  I  didn't  look.  It  seemed  to  me  perfectly 
reasonable.  Interesting,  too,  funny  —  the  man  with  a 
veil.  Besides,  I  didn't  care.  Do  you  remember  Charles 
and  I  used  to  telegraph  each  other  in  cipher?  " 

"  Don't  I !  "  said  Jessie.  "  I  never  saw  telegrams  of 
that  length.  You  let  me  read  them  once  or  twice,  and  I 
was  furious  because  they  were  all  about  Indian  pudding 
and  sweet  pickle  and  I  don't  know  what,  and  I  was  per 
fectly  sure  there  was  something  underneath.  But  the  day 
I  cried  you  told  me  it  was  a  cipher,  and  hugged  me,  and 
you  never  plagued  me  with  them  again.  I  used  to  be 
awfully  jealous,  Nell." 

"  I  was  a  beast,"  said  Helen.  "  There's  nothing  so 
selfish  as  a  girl  in  love.  Well,  I  wrote  a  letter  to  Charles, 
in  cipher.  It  was  in  rhyme,  just  one  page  of  it.  And  it 
jeered  at  him  for  thinking  he  could  have  a  Bluebeard's 


THE   BLACK   DROP  225 

cave  and  lock  a  woman  out.  And  I  kept  it  where  I  could 
lay  my  hand  on  it  in  an  instant  and  waited  for  a  chance 
to  get  hold  of  the  key.  And  one  day  he  came  home  dead 
tired  and  threw  his  clothes  every  which  way  in  his  room, 
as  he  always  did  when  he  was  in  a  hurry,  and  went  in  to 
have  a  bath.  And  I  slipped  into  his  room  and  took  hrs 
keys  and  flew  up  to  the  billiard  room.  And  then  things 
began  to  be  queer.  They've  been  queer  ever  since." 

She  stopped  a  moment,  as  if  at  a  threshold  she  dreaded 
tremendously  to  cross,  and  Jessie  held  her  breath,  much 
afraid  she  would  not  go  on.  But  she  did  go  on. 

"  I  unlocked  the  door  and  went  in.  The  room  struck 
me  with  a  kind  of  chill  —  though  it  was  warm  —  and  a 
sense  of  gloom.  Yet  it  wasn't  a  gloomy  room.  He  had 
bought  some  handsome  rugs  and  really  beautiful  hangings. 
And  one  interesting  thing  about  it  was  that,  though  I 
had  furnished  the  rest  of  the  house  as  I  liked  and  he'd 
always  praised  my  taste  a  lot,  he  hadn't  even  asked  my 
opinion  about  this.  I  was  to  be  kept  out,  in  every  sense. 
But  maybe  the  reason  I  thought  it  gloomy  was  that  it  was 
so  dusty  —  dust  on  the  table,  on  the  floor,  windows  thick 
with  it ;  and  it  came  over  me  that  even  the  servants  hadn't 
been  allowed  to  go  in.  I'd  set  a  cleaning  day  for  the  room 
and  reminded  him  to  be  sure  to  let  Cross  have  the  key ;  but 
apparently  he  never  had.  The  big  table  had  chairs  about 
it,  and  at  one  end  was  a  writing-pad  and  pen  and  ink  and 
some  papers  scattered  about.  And  one  thing  more,  the 
only  one  that  meant  anything  to  me  and  made  me  laugh 
to  myself  and  think  Charles  had  expected  to  play  some  sort 
of  joke  on  me,  the  kind  I  was  playing  on  him  —  a  little 
worn  book." 

"What  sort  of  a  book?" 

Again  Helen  had  not  wanted  to  go  on. 
q 


226  THE    BLACK   DROP 

"  It  was  the  book  that  had  the  key  of  our  cipher  written 
out  fully,  and  he  used  to  carry  it  in  his  pocket  because, 
though  he's  so  terribly  clever  in  most  things,  he's  slow 
about  others.  I  could  read  the  cipher  like  lightning,  but 
he  had  to  pick  it  out.  Well,  that,  I  thought,  would  be 
a  better  joke  than  mine.  I'd  slip  my  verses  inside  the 
code  and  let  him  find  them  there.  And  I  went  round  the 
table  to  do  it,  and  found  a  sheet  of  paper  lying  on  the  pad. 
It  was  a  letter  in  typewriting  —  I  forgot  to  say  there  was 
a  typewriter  in  the  room  —  and  the  letter  was  in  cipher 
—  not  about  sweet  pickles,  as  you  said,  but  other  things 
just  as  queer  —  and  it  gave  definite  instructions  for  blow 
ing  up  a  munitions  factory,  and  told  what  the  men  were 
to  have  and  how  the  money  was  to  be  divided  among  the 
gang." 

"  I  don't  believe  it,"  said  Jessie  loudly. 

She  had  said  she  hated  Charles,  but  this  was  beyond  all 
credulity.  He  was  a  brute,  but  he  was  a  man  of  decencies 
of  birth  and  affiliation,  and  a  man  whose  hand  she  had 
actually  touched. 

Helen  wasted  no  time  over  her  disclaimers. 

"  That,"  she  said,  "  was  what  I've  called  in  my  mind 
the  turning  point.  That  was  the  minute  when  I  began 
to  be  treacherous  myself.  Yes,  I've  been  as  underhand 
as  he  has,  in  another  way.  Of  course  if  I'd  been  really 
playing  fair,  I  shouldn't  have  read  the  letter.  But  don't 
you  know  the  feeling  you  have  toward  the  person  you've 
trusted  absolutely,  the  person  you're — you're  one  with? 
They  tell  you  there's  something  you  mustn't  see,  and  you 
don't  look,  but  you  know  there's  no  real  reason  why  you 
shouldn't.  I  can't  explain.  I'm  not  excusing  it.  I  did 
read  the  letter.  And  everything  was  different.  It's  like 
being  hit  on  the  head.  You  are  benumbed.  I  suppose  I 


THE    BLACK    DROP  227 

stood  there  a  minute.  It  seemed  a  long  time  —  forever. 
Then  something  came  awake  in  me,  and  told  me  the  letter 
mustn't  go.  He  could  write  another,  of  course,  but  that 
letter  mustn't  go.  So  I  took  it  up  and  crumpled  it  in  my 
hand,  and  got  out  of  the  room  and  shut  the  door.  And  I 
put  the  keys  back  before  he  had  finished  his  bath." 

"  What  did  you  do  with  the  letter?  burn  it?  " 

"  Not  then.  Afterward  I  did.  I  wrote  another,  to 
warn  the  munitions  plant." 

"  Anonymous?  " 

"  Yes.  I  told  them  the  date  fixed,  and  that  if  no  at 
tempt  was  made  then  they  were  not  to  think  it  had  been 
given  up." 

"  Did  you  typewrite  it?  " 

"  No.  I  didn't  know  how,  even  if  I'd  had  a  machine.  I 
did  it  in  my  printing  hand.  You  know  I  do  two  or  three 
kinds  of  print." 

"What  did  you  say  to  Charles?  how  did  you  meet,  I 
mean?  " 

"  We  didn't  meet  until  night.  I  scrawled  a  note  to 
him  and  told  him  I'd  got  to  go  out  and  couldn't  wait  to 
see  him  after  his  bath.  Hoped  he'd  try  for  a  nap.  And 
that  night  at  dinner  I  fancy  I  was  much  as  usual.  Either 
I  was  or  he  was  too  busy  with  his  own  affairs  to  notice." 

"  Do  you  suppose  he  missed  the  letter?  " 

"  He  must  have.  But  he  knows  he's  careless.  He  may 
have  written  another  —  there  were  two  mistakes  in  this 
—  and  thought  he'd  destroyed  it.  The  other  may  have 
gone." 

"And  didn't  you  say  anything,  Helen?  not  anything? 
You  acted  as  if  things  were  just  the  same?  " 

Here  was  an  implied  reproach  and  Helen  could  have 
owned  it  merited. 


228  THE    BLACK    DROP 

"  I  didn't  say  anything.  Not  then.  And  I  tried  to 
be  as  nearly  the  same  as  I  could.  I  did  tell  him  I  was 
rather  fagged  and  not  quite  up  to  things.  But  at  the 
end  of  three  days  he  came  down  from  the  billiard  room 
with  a  sealed  letter  in  his  hand  and  into  my  room 
where  I  was  dressing  for  dinner.  We  were  going  out. 
He  stopped  and  talked  to  me,  the  letter  in  his  hand, 
and  I  saw  it  hadn't  been  addressed.  I  didn't  know  whether 
to  tell  him  or  not.  I  thought,  if  he  were  sure  of  mailing  it 
without  the  address,  it  would  be  all  right.  It  was  probably 
something  hideous  and  unlawful,  and  it  simply  wouldn't 
get  there.  But  he  did  see  it,  just  as  he  was  going  into 
his  own  room,  and  said,  "  Damn !  "  and  hesitated  a  minute 
and  glanced  at  my  little  desk,  and  then,  I  could  see, 
remembered  he  wanted  the  address  typewritten  and  that  he 
was  in  a  hurry.  Anyway  he  said  to  me,  '  Address  this, 
will  you,  in  your  printing  hand?  '  So  I  took  the  letter  and 
sat  down  at  my  desk  and  he  gave  me  the  address,  calling 
it  out  from  his  room :  for  I  told  him  he'd  got  to  hurry." 

"Who  was  it  to?" 

"  McClancy  and  Hull,  Chicago.  It  was  the  name  the 
first  letter  was  written  to.  And  I'd  gathered  from  the 
first  that  the  firm  name  was  a  blind.  It  was  really  one 
man." 

"  And  you  addressed  it." 

"  Yes.  And  I  took  it  downstairs,  with  two  letters  of  my 
own,  and  told  Cross  to  post  them  at  once.  And  I  didn't 
go  back  upstairs  till  I'd  watched  him  from  the  window  and 
seen  him  drop  them  into  the  box." 

"  You  addressed  it,"  said  Jessie,  "  without  a  word?  " 

"  I  addressed  it.  But  not  to  McClancy  and  Hull.  I 
addressed  it  to  myself.  And  next  morning  it  was  delivered 
to  me  in  the  mail." 


THE    BLACK   DROP  229 

Jessie  sat  staring  at  her,  though  now  Helen's  face  was 
but  a  white  oval  in  the  dusk,  for  the  fire  had  gone  out. 

"  What  if  he'd  asked  to  see  it?  " 

"  He  did  ask.  I  went  back  upstairs  and  he  called,  *  Have 
you  done  it?'  I  said  'Yes.'  And  he  said,  'Printing 
hand?  Bring  it  here  and  let's  look  at  it.'  And  I  said, 
'  Oh,  I've  given  it  to  Cross  with  mine.'  And  he  said,  '  O 
the  devil ! '  And  then,  *  Well,  all  right.'  " 

"  And  it  came  in  the  morning?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  And  it  ah1  went  off  as  smooth  as  silk?  " 

"  Perfectly.  I  took  care  to  be  in  the  hall  when  the 
letters  came.  I  carried  mine  upstairs  to  my  room  and 
left  them  in  a  drawer  while  I  went  down  to  breakfast." 

"Was  he  at  breakfast?" 

"  Yes.  I  poured  his  coffee  and  we  talked  about  my 
running  down  to  Grasslands  to  spend  a  week.  I  could 
see  he  wanted  me  to  go." 

"  How'd  you  feel?"  Jessie  pursued.  "Now,  Helen, 
how'd  you  really  feel?  " 

"  Excited,"  said  Helen,  without  hesitation.  "  I  didn't 
feel  anything  else  —  not  a  thing  about  deceiving  him.  I 
don't  believe  you  do  until  you  begin  to  get  punished. 
You  haven't  time,  in  the  first  place,  you're  so  busy  cover 
ing  up  your  tracks.  And  it  does  something  to  you,  too. 
I  can't  explain  it.  If  you've  always  told  the  truth  and 
kept  the  rules  and  then  you  begin  suddenly  to  lie  and  smash 
everything  to  pieces,  it's  as  if  something  else  had  been 
required  of  you,  something  you'd  never  thought  you  could 
do.  And  you're  different.  I  suppose  it's  the  way  any 
criminal  feels.  He's  outside  the  law,  but  he's  somewhere, 
just  the  same.  There's  standing  ground  under  his  feet." 

But    though   Jessie   was    curious    about   this,   too,    she 


THE   BLACK   DROP 

wasn't  going  to  lose  time  over  it  now  for  fear  Helen  should 
cease  her  story,  and  that,  it  seemed  to  her,  she  could  not 
bear. 

"  What  was  in  the  letter?  "  she  pursued.  "  You  opened 
it?" 

"  I  could  hardly  wait.  I  was  afraid,  too.  I  knew  it 
would  confirm  the  other,  and  I'd  got  to  have  it  over,  know 
the  worst.  Yet  I  thought  if  it  was  the  worst,  it  ought  to 
kill  me.  I  ran  upstairs  the  minute  he  had  gone  and 
opened  it.  And  it  was  the  same  sort  of  instructions  in 
the  same  cipher  to  blow  up  another  factory.  There  was 
a  good  deal  of  detail.  I  won't  go  into  that.  Most  of  it 
I  didn't  understand." 

"What  did  you  do?" 

"  I  burned  the  letter.  But  I  didn't  dare  write  the  firm. 
The  date  set  was  too  near.  I  went  down  to  the  North 
Station  and  telegraphed  the  munitions  plant.  I  tried  to 
make  up  something  the  operator  wouldn't  understand. 
It  was,  *  Next  chapter  ready  about  blowing  up  the  works. 
Plot  can  be  defeated  by  extra  vigilance.' ' 


XXIII 

"WHAT  then?"  Jessie  breathed.  "What  d'  you  do 
then?" 

"  I  got  panic.  I  was  afraid  —  this  came  on  me  sud 
denly  —  afraid  the  operator  would  guess  what  I  meant 
and  call  a  policeman.  I  was  so  panicky  I  thought  maybe 
I  wasn't  going  to  be  able  to  walk  away  from  the  window. 
But  I  was.  And  I  took  a  carriage  to  the  South  Station 
and  a  train  a  little  way  out,  and  came  back  to  town  by 
trolley.  But  I  was  in  terror  all  the  way,  and  for  days  I 
expected  a  ring  at  the  door  and  the  police  asking  for 
me." 

"  Was  the  plant  blown  up  ?  " 

"  No.  I  kept  watching  for  it  in  the  papers.  It  never 
came." 

"  And  you  didn't  speak  to  Charles,  and  you  didn't  tell 
anybody  —  the  family,  I  mean  ?  " 

"  No.  I  didn't  speak  to  Charles.  Not  then.  I  hadn't 
made  up  my  mind  how  to  do  it;  there  didn't  seem  to  be 
any  way  that  wouldn't  do  more  harm  than  good,  put  him 
on  his  guard,  you  know,  without  actually  stopping  it. 
And  I  couldn't  go  to  the  family.  John  would  probably 
kill  him,  and  grandsir  —  dear  grandsir !  —  he'd  die  of 
shame." 

"  But  Helen,"  said  Jessie,  "  haven't  you  realized  that  if 
you  didn't  do  anything  it  would  all  go  on?  Plants 
would  keep  on  being  blown  up  and  —  why,  it  seems  as  if 
you'd  be  responsible." 

"  Yes,  I  thought  of  that  finally,"  said  Helen.  "  I  was 

231 


232  THE   BLACK   DROP 

pretty  stupid.  But  I  did  what  I  could,  there.  About 
the  time  of  this  last  letter  —  it  was  the  next  day,  in  fact  — 
a  foreign  letter  came  for  him.  He  often  had  them.  I'd 
never  bothered  about  them.  His  business  hadn't  interested 
me.  But  this  had  a  Dutch  postmark.  I  took  it  upstairs 
and  steamed  it  over  my  alcohol  lamp." 

"  Steamed  it?     What  for?  " 

"  Why,  to  open  it." 

"  How'd  you  know  how?  " 

"  Oh,  I've  always  known,"  said  Helen.  "  I've  often 
done  it  when  I've  changed  my  mind  about  a  letter  and  been 
too  stingy  to  lose  the  stamp.  Well,  it  was  in  English,  but 
it  was  dated  Berlin.  And  it  praised  him  for  something 
he'd  been  doing  and  told  him  the  New  York  bank  he  was  to 
look  to  for  money.  And  it  gave  him  three  names  of 
Germans  naturalized  in  this  country  whose  orders  he  was 
to  take." 

"  Did  you  destroy  that?  " 

"  Yes,  and  I  wrote  another,  as  short  as  I  could  make 
it,  in  the  same  hand  and  put  it  in  the  same  envelope  and 
sealed  it  up  again  and  left  it  on  the  hall  table.  And  he 
found  it  there." 

"What'dyousay?" 

"  I  told  him  he  was  to  do  nothing  whatever,  no  matter 
what  any  German- American  agent  told  him,  until  he  heard 
from  Berlin  again." 

"  By  George !  "  said  Jessie.  "  I  don't  know  whether  I 
think  you're  a  dead  game  sport  or  whether  you  scare  me 
blue.  And  this  was  in  plain  English,  not  cipher?  " 

"  Yes,  it  was  in  cipher.      I  forgot  to  say  that." 

"  How  could  you  read  it?     It  wasn't  yours." 

"  Yes,  it  was  his  old  cipher  and  mine.  Queer  wasn't  it, 
to  find  it  coming  from  Berlin?  I  fancied  Charles  had 


THE   BLACK   DROP  233 

wanted  it  used  because,  as  I  told  you,  he's  never  been  very 
clever  about  that  sort  of  thing  and  he'd  try  to  keep  on 
using  the  one  he'd  learned." 

"  About  the  letter,"  said  Jessie.  "  I'll  tell  you  where 
you'll  fall  down  there.  The  stationery.  There'll  be  a 
watermark.  There  always  is,  and  somebody'll  see  it's 
forged." 

"  No,"  said  Helen,  "  I  wrote  it  on  some  paper  I  brought 
away  from  the  Kaiserhof,  in  Berlin.  I  did  that  two  or 
three  times  when  we  were  abroad :  didn't  have  time  to 
write  a  letter  home,  and  took  along  a  sheet  of  the  hotel 
paper  to  date  it  from  the  place  I  was  talking  about.  I 
thought  anybody,  even  an  official  person,  might  easily 
go  into  a  hotel  and  send  a  note  from  there,  even  such  an 
important  one." 

"  But  you  left  him,"  said  Jessie.  "  You  didn't  stay  to 
keep  your  eye  on  him.  How  do  you  know  what's  gone  on 
since?  " 

"  About  my  going  away  —  '  said  Helen,  and  then 
stopped.  She  was  now  profoundly  troubled,  though  she 
had  thought  the  problem  of  her  own  responsibility  and  her 
guilt  in  avoiding  it  over  and  over,  until  it  was  now  only 
a  wearisome  question,  not  settled,  never  likely  to  be. 

"  The  fact  is,"  she  went  on,  "  I've  never  been  able  to 
think  whether  I  ought  to  have  gone  or  not.  I  simply  don't 
know.  But  this  was  what  I  did.  I  made  up  my  mind  I'd 
got  to  have  it  out  with  him.  I  took  it  in  the  daytime, 
one  day  after  lunch.  I  told  him  I'd  found  out  something 
dreadful  —  about  him.  And  the  minute  I  said  it,  I  saw 
it  was  all  true." 

"  But  you  knew  it  was  true." 

"  Oh,  I  know  I  did.  But  don't  you  see?  I  suppose  in 
the  bottom  of  my  mind  was  a  hope  he'd  somehow  explain. 


234  THE   BLACK   DROP 

He'd  laugh  and  tell  me  how  it  all  was,  and  I  should  wake 
up  and  know  it  was  a  dream.  Those  dreams,  you  know, 
where  the  one  you  love  doesn't  love  you  any  more,  and  you 
wake  and  he's  there  and  you  put  out  your  hand  and 
touch  his." 

"  And  is  he  the  one  you  love  most  now?  "  Jessie  wanted 
to  ask.  "Do  you  still?" 

But  that  she  knew  she  must  not  ask. 

"  He  looked,"  Helen  went  on,  and  paused  for  a  simile, 
"  he  looked  like  death.  Not  angry.  I've  seen  him  angry, 
though  not  with  me  —  then.  But  he  looked  somehow  done 
for.  And  then  he  said, —  yes,  I've  got  to  tell  you  this, 
too  —  he  said:  'Who  told  you  about  her?  ' 

"About  whom?" 

"  I  didn't  know.  I  was  as  puzzled  as  you  are  now,  and 
I  sat  and  looked  at  him.  And  he  said,  '  If  anybody's  told 
you  about  Mrs.  Davenport,  it's  a  lie.  And  I  did  go  to 
New  York  with  her,  but  it  was  on  business,  and  if  anybody 
has  told  you  —  -'  and  he  stopped  there,  and  I  sat  and 
looked  at  him." 

"  But,  good  gracious !  "  Jessie  said.  "  Heaven  knows 
I'm  not  anxious  to  stand  up  for  Charles ;  but  men  and 
women  are  trotting  about  together  everywhere  now  — 
war  work  and  all.  The  world's  changed,  Helen.  We  are 
in  business  up  to  the  hilt.  And  to  say  a  man  can't  —  Oh, 
I'm  afraid  you've  been  foolish.  I'm  afraid  you've  done 
what  you'll  wish  you  hadn't." 

"  I  should  have  thought  that,  too,"  said  Helen,  "  but 
then  he  got  angry.  And  he  said  things  —  about  her.  And 
one  thing  —  yes,  I  will  tell  you  that  —  a  degraded  thing, 
*  What  you  don't  know  doesn't  hurt  you.'  And  that  I'd 
been  wrong  to  find  it  out  and  had  myself  to  thank.  And 
that  he'd  never  loved  me  better  than  at  that  minute." 


THE   BLACK   DROP  235 

"  Just  what  did  he  mean  by  that  ?  " 

"  I  suppose,"  said  Helen  quietly,  "  he  meant  that  if 
I'd  accept  the  situation  he'd  be  very  grateful  to  me  and  we 
could  go  on  pleasantly  compromising  —  and  being  com 
promised." 

"  Don't,"  said  Jessie  involuntarily.  "  You  sound  so 
hard." 

"  Do  I?  well  I  don't  feel  very  soft.  I  hardened  at  that 
minute.  I  could  feel  myself  doing  it.  I  froze,  and  I 
haven't  got  thawed  out  since.  You  must  remember,  Jess, 
I'm  not  the  same  person  I  was  before  things  happened 
to  Charles  and  me.  I've  opened  letters  and  spied  on 
my  husband  and  cheated  and  lied.  Oh,  no,  I'm  not  the 
same  person  at  all." 

"  O  dearest,"  said  Jessie,  "  what  could  you  have  done 
but  what  you  did?  " 

"  I  don't  know  what  I  could  have  done.  The  things 
came  on  me,  one  after  another,  and  I  met  them  as  they 
came.  I  don't  know  what  I've  done  to  help  or  hinder, 
whether  I've  done  right  or  wrong.  And  I  don't  know  what 
it's  all  done  to  me." 

"  But,"  Jessie  asserted,  "  you  don't  care  about  him 
any  more.  I  see  that." 

Helen  winced.  She  had  travelled  far  since  the  days 
when  love  seemed  to  her  an  ecstasy,  a  recognized  madness 
of  loyalty,  a  light  playing  upon  that  responsive  creature 
and  making  him  divinely  hers.  She  didn't  know  now 
whether  she  still  believed  there  could  ever  be  that  sort  of 
creature,  so  transfigured.  She  did  know  that  a  hard, 
heroic  fibre  in  her  had  been  ready  to  respond  to  marriage 
as  she  had  found  it,  if  only  an  honorable  relation  could 
have  been  sustained.  After  the  first,  she  hadn't  demanded 
rose  leaves  and  rainbows.  She  had  learned  that  wasn't 


236  THE    BLACK    DROP 

marriage.  Marriage  was  a  substantial  compact  where 
you  were  to  stand  as  the  man's  best  friend,  his  partner  in 
the  big  business  of  life.  Your  happiness  was  negligible: 
what  you  had  ignorantly,  out  of  the  bewilderment  of  youth, 
named  happiness.  The  belief  in  that  had  been  the  con 
spiracy  of  all  the  flutes  and  birds  of  dawn,  calling  to  lure 
you  out  of  your  isolation  into  the  terrible  work  of  carrying 
on  the  world.  Well,  that  was  all  right.  She  was  up  to 
the  big  challenge,  if  only  —  and  then  she  looked  at  Jessie 
with  a  quick,  intent  scrutiny,  trying  to  see  her  as  she  was, 
a  woman  moulded  a  little  by  hard  work  and  tremendously 
by  the  appetite  for  life  that  is  made  for  work,  and 
wondered  how  far  it  was  well  to  thrust  on  her  the  secrets 
of  destiny  which  might  well  have  been  intended  by  the 
sibyls  of  fate  for  Helen  to  keep  in  her  own  hands,  muse  on, 
decide  upon.  After  all,  they  were  her  secrets.  Mightn't 
it  be  the  only  decency  to  let  Jessie,  unwarned  that  romance 
could  fade  into  insecurity  like  this,  face  her  own  life,  the 
stronger  for  being  unprepared,  and  perhaps  encounter  no 
such  mystery?  But  Jessie  was  looking  at  her  through 
the  dusk,  repeating  inexorably : 

"  You  don't  care  about  him." 

And  here  Helen  could  only  fumble. 

"  I  shouldn't  have  left  him  for  that." 

"  You  wouldn't?  "  Jessie  demanded,  in  her  confident 
young  voice.  "  I  would.  Live  with  a  man  you  don't 
care  about?  That's  degrading." 

It  was  degrading,  Helen  knew,  put  as  an  abstract  issue, 
and  only  to  be  decided  by  the  heart  in  one  way.  But 
you  didn't  make  actual  decisions  in  an  instant  of  mental 
realization,  the  clear-cut  decisive  no  that  shuts  the  door 
upon  married  fealty.  Before  you  shut  the  door,  you  have 
looked  about  carefully  into  all  the  corners  of  the  house  and 


THE   BLACK   DROP  237 

decided  whether  it  can  be  made  livable.  If  a  man  isn't  the 
man  you  thought  him,  you  have  still  perhaps  the  hope 
that  there  is  to  be  built  up  between  you  some  working 
basis  of  life  together  which  will  contribute  more  to  life 
in  general  than  your  rushing  out  of  the  house  and  bang 
ing  the  door. 

"  I  mean,"  she  said,  "  if  I  had  changed  and  he  hadn't, 
or  if  he  had  changed  and  not  — 

"  You  mean,"  said  Jessie,  "  you  could  have  stood  his 
getting  tired  of  you,  but  you  couldn't  stand  Mrs.  Daven 
port." 

"  I  suppose  I  mean  just  that." 

Now  something  came  back  to  Jessie  and  made  her  catch 
her  breath  in  a  new,  sudden  shock  of  amazement. 

"  Why,"  said  she,  "  I'd  forgotten  the  German  business. 
This  thing  knocked  it  out  of  my  head.  You  began  to  talk 
to  him  about  that  and  he  thought  you  meant  Mrs.  Daven 
port  and  gave  himself  away.  And  didn't  you  ever  talk 
about  it  at  all  ?  " 

"  Never.  I  left  the  house  and  went  to  a  hotel  and  later 
to  New  York  and  then  you  came  home.  And  here  we  are." 

"  And  Charles  doesn't  know  he's  been  found  out?  " 

"  No." 

"  But,  Helen,"  said  Jessie,  "  it's  pretty  serious. 
Because  he's  going  on  with  it.  Of  course  he  is,  now  there's 
nobody  to  hinder.  And  isn't  it  up  to  you  — 

"  I  know,"  said  Helen.  "  It  is,  and  if  I  don't  speak  I'm 
guilty,  just  as  he  is.  That's  what  grandsir  said  about  the 
United  States,  you  know :  that  by  not  going  into  the  war 
she's  guilty,  with  Germany,  of  the  millions  of  dead.  I 
thought  of  myself  when  he  said  that.  I  thought,  Charles 
is  a  traitor  and  if  I  don't  give  him  up,  I'm  a  traitor,  too." 

Jessie  thought  of  the  bag  and  her  flippant  suggestion 


238  THE    BLACK   DROP 

about  the  Herr  Captain's  hair  brushes,  and  was  humble. 
John  had  been  right.  But  she  couldn't  stop  to  pull  out 
that  thread  from  the  tangled  web  of  Helen's  misery. 

"  Seems  as  if  I've  got  to  know,"  she  said,  "  just  why  you 
stopped  where  you  did.  There  was  the  awful  proof  in 
your  hands  and  you  just  locked  it  up  and  said  nothing. 
I  suppose  it  was  because  it  was  Charles." 

"  Yes,"  said  Helen,  "  I  suppose  it  was." 

"  Then  you  do  care  about  him." 

The  blood  came  into  Helen's  face.  She  felt  it  there 
and  was  glad  the  dusk  was  between  them  and  Jessie  could 
not  see  it  and  read  into  it  a  story  that  might  or  might  not 
be  true.  It  flooded  her  to  suffusion,  and  under  the  fatal 
surge  of  it  she  seemed  to  herself  drowned  in  shame.  She 
kept  her  eyes  fixed  on  Jessie's  though  she  could  not  see  how 
steadily  they  dwelt  on  her  with  their  inquiring  innocence; 
she  dared  not  relinquish  her  bravado.  But  she  had  to 
answer  that  last  question. 

"  How  can  I  tell  you,"  she  said,  "  whether  I've  stopped 
caring  about  him?  How  can  I  know  myself  ?  In  one  way 
he's  only  a  strange  man  I've  known  —  so  well  I  can't  know 
him  any  more.  But  a  good  deal  is  lived  through  in  five 
years.  If  you've  married  a  man,  Jess,  he's  —  different  to 
you." 

"  Well,"  said  Jessie,  "  are  you  going  to  save  him  at 
the  expense  of  hundreds  of  other  people  ?  " 

"  Am  I  trying  to  save  him?  "  asked  Helen  passionately. 
"  I  don't  know.  Or  am  I  trying  to  save  the  family  the 
disgrace  of  it?  I  don't  know.  I  only  know  I'm  in  a  net 
and  I  can't  break  out." 

"  Tell  them,"  said  Jessie.     "  Tell  grandsir  first." 

"  I  went  over  there  to  do  it,  two  days  ago,  and  he  was 
worse  than  usual,  and  when  I  was  on  the  stairs  I  heard  him 


THE   BLACK   DROP  239 

groan  just  once.  '  O  Lord ! '  he  said.  It  was  awful. 
And  when  I  went  in,  he  was  as  nice  and  as  funny  as  ever, 
and  said  his  legs  were  behaving  like  the  deuce,  but  he 
shouldn't  know  what  to  do  without  them.  And  I  couldn't 
tell  him  about  Charles.  How  could  I?  " 

"Well,  anyway  you've  told  me,  and  you're  an  old  dear. 
It's  pretty  bad  —  bad  as  it  can  be  —  but  I  can  stand  it 
better,  now  I  know." 

"  I  had  to  tell  you,"  said  Helen,  "  because,  the  other 
night,  I  saw  him." 

"Not  here?" 

"  No,  in  the  street." 

"  The  night  you  came  home  frightened?  " 

"  Yes.  And  he  wants  me  to  go  back  to  him.  He  won't 
spare  any  pains  to  get  me  back.  And  I  thought  if  things 
got  to  be  —  queer — or  anything  strange  happened,  you 
ought  to  have  something  to  go  on,  be  prepared.  I  know, 
of  course,  it's  horrible  for  you  —  a  girl  —  " 

"  Get  that  right  out  of  your  mind,"  said  Jessie  quietly. 
"  This  talk  of  preserving  the  ignorance  of  girls  is  simply  rot. 
I've  learned  more  about  life  in  the  last  two  years  than  our 
mothers  ever  knew,  and  since  the  world  is  made  that  way 
it's  the  best  thing  that  could  happen.  You  can't  blow 
a  nice  iridescent  bubble  round  me,  for  I  sha'n't  stay  in  it, 
that's  all.  And  I've  worked  in  France." 


XXIV 

IF  the  Tracy  family  was  in  a  state  of  judicial  activity 
over  Charles,  hauling  him  up  before  the  bar  of  their 
individual  minds  and  debating  what  should  be  done  with 
him,  he  also  was  on  edge.  John's  appearance  at  Grass 
lands  had  been  a  blow  straight  from  the  shoulder  of 
malicious  fate,  and  his  walking  off  with  the  Herr  Captain's 
bag  as  provocative  as  it  was  alarming.  The  Herr  Captain 
had  sailed,  according  to  schedule.  There  were  imperative 
reasons.  He  had  been  provided  with  duplicates  of  the 
lost  papers,  though  certain  important  signatures  had  to 
be  forgone,  for  lack  of  time.  But  Charles,  seeing  with 
his  mind's  eye  the  incriminating  documents  fluttering  over 
the  world  like  leaves  from  the  book  of  destiny,  his  destiny 
which  was  so  terribly  isolated  because  he  had  wilfully  cut 
it  off  from  the  fortunes  of  mankind,  was  wild  with  anxiety 
to  recover  them.  It  had  been  almost  beyond  his  power  of 
will  to  keep  himself  in  hand  when  John  lay  in  bed,  that 
day,  under  his  glance.  But  this  self-control  of  the  per 
fect  diplomat  he  had  long  ago  set  himself  to  attain, 
was,  he  believed,  as  exquisite  a  weapon  as  man  has 
learned  to  forge.  Never,  in  crucial  tests,  to  betray 
his  anger,  his  uneasiness,  his  fear,  unless,  in  some  last 
instance,  he  had  to  intimidate,  to  crush:  that  was  his 
formula  of  mastery.  He  had  tested  it  over  and  over  again. 
It  often  disarmed,  and  it  always  bewildered.  He  was 
having  abundant  scope  now  for  seeing  it  in  action.  The 
boys,  Brennan,  Finch  and  Bailey,  were  trying  him  like 
fiends,  or  malevolent  sprites  told  off  by  the  grave  gods 

240 


THE   BLACK   DROP  241 

of  circumstance  for  his  undoing.  But  he  was  meeting  them 
imperturbably.  The  instant  he  detected  their  antagonism 
in  action,  he  was  ready  for  them,  urbane,  impenetrable, 
either  so  thick-skinned  or  so  elusive  that  they  could  not, 
he  was  sure,  have  guessed  whether  any  of  their  shots 
told.  But  those  things  cost,  especially  to  a  man  of  his 
extremely  delicate  poise,  incident  to  quick  rages,  who,  when 
the  world  denied  him,  had  one  unvarying  impulse :  to  kick 
back  at  it. 

On  the  evening  of  the  day  Jessie  had  seen  Mrs.  Daven 
port  at  Grasslands,  he  went  to  Elsa's,  having  previously 
telephoned  to  ask  if  she  were  alone.  He  found  her  in  a 
gold-colored  dress  like  a  mist  of  sunset,  her  cheeks  burnt 
red.  The  day  in  the  country  had  soaked  her  in  sun  and 
freedom.  She  carried  the  air  of  it  in  her  breath  and  the 
light  of  it  in  her  eyes.  Charles  nodded,  put  away  his 
hat  and  stick  and  took  the  chair  she  indicated  with  an 
intimate  cosiness  of  welcome.  However  tempestuously  he 
longed  to  touch  that  glowing  cheek,  he  knew  better  than  to 
snatch.  A  kiss  was  something  to  be  waited  for.  She 
sat  down  opposite  him  and  smiled. 

"  What  are  you  laughing  at?  "  he  asked,  for  the  moment 
almost  resentful  of  her  beauties  and  the  merciless  appeal 
they  carried.  He  thought  she  might  have  seen  how  undone 
he  was  over  his  anxieties. 

"  Dear  me !  "  said  Elsa,  apostrophizing  the  parrot,  who 
also  remarked,  "  Dear  me !  dear  me !  "  and  continued, 
"What  a  fuss!" 

"  I'd  like  —  "  said  Charles  and  stopped,  remembering, 
though  late,  that  Elsa  was  not  one  of  the  family  and  he 
couldn't  be  entirely  himself  with  her. 

The  parrot,  with  a  ready,  gleeful  optimism,  completed 
the  sentence  for  him :  "  I'd  like  to  wring  that  bird's  neck." 


242  THE   BLACK   DROP 

Elsa,  in  a  fit  of  laughter,  got  up  and  opened  the  cage 
door,  and  invited  the  creature,  who  sidled  toward  her  with 
a  complication  of  steps. 

"  Don't  let  the  devilish  thing  bite  you,"  Charles 
recommended. 

But  Elsa  still  offered  her  hand,  and  the  parrot  perched 
on  it  and  was  carried  out  of  the  room,  chuckling  on  the 
way :  "  O  law !  law !  what  a  fuss." 

When  she  came  back,  Charles  did  unwillingly  smile. 

"  It  occurs  to  me,"  he  said,  "  he's  heard  that  remark  a 
good  many  times." 

"  Wringing  his  neck?  "  said  Elsa.  "  Oh,  yes,  over  and 
over.  Polly's  never  had  many  friends  among  mine." 

Charles  felt  the  purpose  that  had  brought  him  here 
break  suddenly,  as  if  his  jealousy  shivered  it  with  a  fist. 

"  Elsa,"  said  he,  "  this  room  must  have  heard  a  good 
many  strange  things  since  you've  been  in  it." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  she  said.  She  had  brought  out  her  knitting 
and  unrolled  the  yarn.  But  first  she  spread  a  fine  white 
handkerchief  in  her  lap.  She  was  exquisitely  careful  of 
her  clothes.  "  Enough  to  hang  us  all." 

"  Enough  to  hang  you,  if  I  got  hold  of  them.  I  don't 
mean  state  secrets.  I  mean  yours.  Who  came  here  before 
I  began  to  come?  " 

She  knit  out  her  needle  and  then  looked  up  at  him. 
The  flush  of  the  air  and  the  sun  was  going  out  of  her 
cheeks  and  she  knew  it  by  the  coldness  at  her  heart,  the 
drop  to  the  old  dead  feeling  that  nothing  was  worth  all 
this  frenzy  of  planning  and  holding  on.  But  she  did 
gallantly  smile  at  him. 

"  I  wish,"  she  said,  "  you  were  a  nice  boy  and  wanted 
to  make  me  comfy.  No,  sit  still  and  let  me  tell  you  what 
I  did  down  there." 


THE   BLACK   DROP  243 

"Any  luck?" 

He  took  out  his  cigarette  case  and  his  hand  was  trem 
bling. 

"  No,  not  about  the  bag.     It  wasn't  there." 

"  There?  you  didn't  go  all  over  the  woods." 

"  Yes,  we  did  pretty  much." 

"  We?  " 

"  Herr  Adler  helped  me." 

"  Has  he  been  out  of  the  house,  running  the  risk  of 
being  seen?  " 

"  Now  wait,"  said  Elsa,  "  and  let  me  tell  you  the  whole 
story.  I  got  there  at  ten.  I  gave  him  the  money  and 
made  him  write  down  the  directions.  He  isn't  to  take 
a  scrap  of  paper  of  any  sort  except  the  two  French 
letters  thanking  him  for  what  he  sent  for  relief  work. 
And  he  is  to  wait,  no  matter  how  long,  till  the  car  comes." 

"  You're  sure  the  letters  were  all  right?  " 

"  Sure.  I  can  do  that  foreign  hand  perfectly.  Then 
I  told  him  I  was  going  into  the  woods  to  look  for  the  bag 
your  little  brother  threw  away,  and  the  poor  man  was  so 
sick  of  the  house  I  let  him  come,  too." 

"  Well,"  said  Charles,  "  I  suppose  you  didn't  see  any 
body." 

"  Not  a  soul,"  said  Elsa.  It  would  be  quite  impossible,  she 
knew,  to  tell  him  the  whole  story,  in  the  mood  he  was  in 
to-night.  If  she  had  seen  Jessie  and  spoken  to  her,  then 
Jessie  had  seen  Adler,  and  a  new  trail  of  uncertainty  was 
started.  And  Adler,  glad  enough  to  do  it,  since  he'd  no 
business  out  of  the  house,  had  promised  to  be  silent. 

"  He  hadn't  shaved  his  beard?  " 

"  No,  oh  no.  Of  course  he  hasn't  shaved  it.  Wasn't 
he  there  to  let  it  grow?  " 

"  Well,  he  doesn't  seem  to  have  been  any  too  keen  about 


244  THE    BLACK   DROP 

obeying  orders.  You  think  he  understands  he's  to  stay 
with  the  Maine  colony,  if  we  can  get  him  down  there, — 
anyway  till  he's  taken  off?  " 

"  Sure  of  it.     Have  you  seen  your  brother?  " 

"  Yes,  I've  seen  him.  He's  in  bed.  Hurt  his  leg  or 
back  or  something,  that  night,  and  good  enough  for 
him." 

"  What  did  you  say  to  him?  " 

"  Nothing.  Oh,  yes,  I  did.  I  said  it  was  a  shame  about 
his  lameness,  or  something  of  the  sort." 

"  You  didn't  ask  him  what  the  dickens  he'd  done  with 
the  bag?  " 

"  No." 

"  Ignored  it." 

"  Yes." 

"  You  thought  it  was  better?  " 

"  I've  set  a  man  to  watch  him,  as  soon  as  he  goes  out 
of  the  house,"  said  Charles,  frowning.  He  didn't  like  the 
idea  of  that,  though  he  had  done  it.  After  all,  John  was 
the  family.  It  was  a  part  of  his  arrogance  to  keep  the 
family  on  impregnable  foundations  even  while  he  battered 
at  them.  "  If  he  has  it,  he  won't  get  away  with  it  without 
our  knowing  it." 

"Are  you  worried?  "  she  ventured. 

"  Worried  as  the  devil,"  he  owned.  "  It's  a  pretty 
serious  business." 

"  Sometimes  I  think  there  wasn't  any  bag,"  said  Elsa. 
"  It's  ridiculous.  The  captain  sets  it  down  in  the  hall, 
and  hears  John  on  the  stairs.  And  when  he  turns  round 
the  bag  has  gone  and  John  has  gone,  and  you  conclude 
they've  gone  together." 

"  Naturally,"  said  Charles,  with  a  grim  conciseness. 
"  We've  every  reason  to  believe  so," 


THE   BLACK   DROP  245 

"  And  then  that  ridiculous  professor  sees  John  at  the 
station  — 

"Why  ridiculous?" 

"  Oh,  he's  so  precisely  like  the  stage  German,  thick 
headed,  and  sentimental,  like  a  lady  poetess  — 

"Sentimental?" 

"  Oh,  no,  no,  not  over  me,  Othello.  But  all  of  a  mush, 
don't  you  know?  A  kind  of  temperamental  fat.  And  soft ! 
Singing  melting  songs  and  swilling  beer  —  oh,  I  loathe 
the  creatures." 

"  Softly,  my  lady,"  said  Charles,  still  grimly.  "  Don't 
forget  you're  in  up  to  your  neck,  if  you  do  loathe  'em, 
and  you're  spending  their  money  rather  freely." 

"  He  sees  John  at  the  station,  and  John  is  without  a 
bag;  but  at  the  same  time  hasn't  any  books,  which  does 
seem  to  indicate  he  didn't  come  down  for  them,  after  all. 
And  there's  no  bag  in  the  path,  no  bag  in  the  woods  as 
near  the  path  as  he'd  have  had  time  to  go,  no  bag  any 
where.  Charles,  I  believe  he  didn't  take  it  out  of  the 
house.  Don't  you  know  that  settle  in  the  hall?  I  saw 
it  to-day.  Doesn't  the  seat  lift  up?  Didn't  he  lift  it 
like  lightning  and  chuck  the  thing  in  there?  " 

"  I  looked  there  myself,"  said  Charles.  "  There  were 
two  books  under  it,  but  not  his  Dramatists.  No.  He 
hid  it  somewhere  in  the  woods.  And  he  couldn't  go  down 
to  get  it  himself,  and  if  it  isn't  there  now  he  sent  somebody 
else." 

"  Oh,"  said  Elsa  softly,  "  so  he  did.  That  was  it  then, 
was  it?" 

"  And  the  most  likely  person  for  him  to  send  was  one 
of  those  three  fools  of  his  I've  got  working  for  me  on  the 
Voice,  though  I've  reason  to  know  he  threw  them  over 
because  he  was  out  with  them  for  doing  it." 


246  THE   -BLACK   DROP 

"  Yes,"  said  Elsa.  "  I  see.  They  would  have  been 
likely  persons." 

While  they  talked  she  was  knitting  fast,  without  inter 
mission.  Whatever  she  did  was  done  in  that  quick  com 
plete  way,  and  her  knitting  for  the  Belgians,  she  told 
Charles,  with  a  demure  smile,  was  her  one  great  interest. 

"  Now,"  said  Charles  suddenly,  "  play  to  me." 

She  put  down  her  work  and,  after  a  look  at  him, 
her  brows  earnest,  her  eyes  thoughtful,  went  to  the 
piano.  The  look  asked  if  he  wanted  anything,  if  he 
could  possibly  be  more  comfortable  than  he  was,  and 
Charles  understood  it  so  and  liked  it. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  answering  it  while  she  was  settling 
herself  on  the  piano-chair,  "  there's  one  thing.  You  could 
come  over  here  and  kiss  me." 

She  had  turned  slightly  to  hear,  but  she  only  gave  a 
little  gay  smile  and  tossed  the  kiss  from  her  finger-tips. 
And  then  she  did  begin.  Elsa  had  had  the  early  part  of 
her  life  abroad.  She  went  there  to  study  the  piano,  and 
she  had  meant  to  come  dutifully  back  to  teach.  But  she 
had  not  come,  and  the  trustee  of  her  small  moneys  com 
mended  her  for  staying  over  there  where  she  could  live 
well  on  an  income  that  would  hardly  have  bought  her 
chiffons  at  home.  In  a  sober  trip  on  the  regulation  routes 
of  travel,  he  went  to  see  her  in  Germany,  and  he  was  as 
tonished  to  find  she  was  not  living  cheaply  at  all.  How 
did  she  manage  it,  he  asked  her,  and  she  told  him  she  proved 
to  have  rather  a  genius  for  getting  along.  And  she  liked 
the  German  ways?  and  the  German  people?  No,  Elsa 
said,  without  hesitation,  she  hated  the  German  people. 
They  were  pigs.  But  she  was  very  comfortable,  and  she 
should  come  home  again  and  make  a  start  sometime.  And 
in  1913  she  did  come  and  went  into  journalism. 


THE   BLACK   DROP  247 

Her  music  was  the  unplumbed  part  of  her.  Whether 
it  disclosed  a  self  ordinarily  hidden,  whether  it  merely 
woke  every  fibre  in  her  to  an  intensity  of  physical  life,  who 
could  say?  But  Elsa,  playing,  was  like  a  golden  ball, 
tossed  from  hand  to  hand  of  the  Muses,  in  bright  summer 
air.  It  was,  this  game  of  the  Muses  with  her,  of  a 
brilliancy  that  transcended  mere  technique.  Charles 
hardly  knew  he  loved  her  until  he  heard  her  play.  He 
craved  music,  craved  it  like  a  drug.  It  was  the  emotional 
luxury  that  quickened  his  sensibilities,  though  all  he  could 
say  of  it  was  that  he  liked  it  because  it  helped  him  think. 
Sometimes  he  was  hardly  conscious  of  it,  as  it  went  thrill 
ing  over  his  head,  like  thunderous  waves  in  a  storm  while 
he  sat  in  the  quiet  of  his  sea  palace  underneath,  in  the 
scheming  which  was  his  nearest  approach  to  creative 
power.  But  it  was  not  only  Elsa's  playing  he  craved. 
It  was  the  change  the  playing  made  in  her.  When  she  had 
finished,  she  was  burned  red  with  the  fire  of  life,  taut  as 
a  bow,  and  her  little  cynicisms  and  evasions  were  gone. 
To-night  she  began  with  Debussy,  but  he  interrupted  her 
after  an  uneasy  interval. 

"  Stop  playing  that  devilish  stuff,"  he  called  to  her. 
"  It's  like  rain  into  a  tin  pan." 

And  then  she  played  Wagner  to  him  —  and  perhaps 
it  was  only  out  of  perversity  that  she  had  not  begun  with 
it  —  and  Charles  gave  himself  up  to  the  monstrous  pagan 
individualism  and  let  it  sweep  him  on  and  on,  knowing  she 
was  being  swept  with  him  and  that  it  would  take  her  to 
that  boundary  where  she  let  herself  loose,  like  a  bacchante 
on  the  hills.  Elsa  knew  it,  too.  She  was  half  wearied 
of  the  boundary,  half  abhorrent  of  it,  but  she  went  on  reck 
lessly  riding  her  bare-backed  horse  of  savagery  to  leap  it 
at  last  and  speed  up  the  burning  slope.  The  evening 


248  THE    BLACK    DROP 

waned  and  she  stopped  playing  and  called  again  over  her 
shoulder : 

"  More?  "  He  did  not  answer  and  she  left  the  piano 
and  went  to  him  and  knelt  beside  him,  her  cheek  on  his. 
"  Asleep?  "  she  asked,  and  still  he  did  not  answer,  but  put 
his  arms  about  her  and  held  her  there.  And  when  he 
turned  to  meet  her  lips,  he  found  she  was  crying,  a  sudden 
splash  of  tears  that  wet  his  face. 

"  Good  God !  "  he  said,  and  released  her,  to  sit  up  and 
draw  her  up  beside  him.  "  You're  crying." 

It  was  the  most  disconcerting  thing  that  had  ever  hap 
pened  in  his  space  of  knowing  her.  She  was  hard  as  a 
frozen  world  with  a  heart  of  fire,  and  the  fire  itself  was 
not  beneficent,  like  the  blaze  on  the  hearth.  It  would 
burn  you  to  the  bone,  and  the  piquing  delight  of  it  was 
to  see  how  near  you  could  come  to  being  burned  and  yet 
escape.  And  here  she  was  crying  like  any  other  woman, 
sickened  over  little  fears  and  hurts.  But  he  was  not  to  be 
called  on  for  his  arts  of  comforting,  of  which  he  had  a 
rich  variety.  She  slipped  away  from  him  and  went  to  the 
window  and  stood  there  looking  down  at  the  lights  and 
swallowing  her  strange  grief.  Charles  got  up  and  went 
to  her  and  put  his  arm  about  her,  with  some  certainty  of 
being  rebuffed.  But,  to  his  amazement,  she  turned  to 
him  and  stood  there  leaning  on  him. 

"  What  was  it?  "  he  asked  her  tenderly.  "  What  is  it, 
dear?  " 

She  could  not  tell.  She  was  a  little  fagged  perhaps, 
the  woman's  modern  equivalent  for  the  old  headache.  But 
the  bitterness  of  her  soul  was  rising  as  she  spoke.  She 
could  taste  it  in  her  mouth.  The  feel  of  the  country  air 
was  with  her,  not  only  on  her  cheeks  but  in  her  mind,  and 
the  brave  clear  look  in  Jessie's  face  hurt  her  like  an  accu- 


THE    BLACK    DROP  249 

sation.  She  was  not  so  much  tired  of  tortuous  ways  and 
tawdry  alliances  as  of  the  certainty  that  she  was  com 
mitted  to  them.  She  had  chosen  to  live  in  this  house  of 
life,  and  now  the  door  was  closed  on  her  and  she  not 
only  failed  to  see  herself  going  bravely  out  into  the  cold 
clear  air,  but  she  knew  the  air  itself  was  too  bracing  for 
her.  A  moment  like  this  had  not  come  for  years.  It 
might  not  come  again  for  years,  and  as  she  stood  there 
leaning  against  the  man  whose  heart  —  the  physical  heart 
of  him  —  was  beating  for  her,  she  hoped,  with  a  sick 
revulsion,  it  might  never  come  again.  And  he  was  making 
himself  very  comforting. 

"  I'll  be  good  to  you,  dear,"  he  said  to  her  more  than 
once.  "  I'll  be  good  to  you." 

When  Charles  went  away  from  the  house,  in  that  dull 
interval  of  the  night  when  human  vitality  is  low,  he  saw, 
in  the  quick  glance  he  cast  up  and  down  the  street,  a  man 
standing  near  the  curb.  Charles  stopped,  putting  on  a 
glove  and  at  the  same  time  gazing  at  him  squarely.  He 
made  a  queer  figure  there  under  the  light,  and  his  having 
chosen  that  particular  spot  seemed  to  indicate  his  willing 
ness  to  be  seen:  a  slender  figure  of  more  than  medium 
height,  in  a  cape,  not  a  coat,  and  with  a  pointed  beard. 
He  wore  spectacles,  and  he  was  looking,  not  at  Charles,  but 
at  the  house.  Charles,  after  another  glance,  went  on, 
forbidding  himself  to  look  back,  but  he  was  vaguely  dis 
quieted  by  the  position  of  the  man,  his  stare  at  the  house, 
the  queerness  of  his  clothes  and  especially  his  hat.  It  was 
an  impossible  hat,  and  woke  some  vague,  teasing  recollec 
tion.  Where  had  he  seen  that  hat?  As  he  went  on,  de 
ciding  he  might  permit  himself  a  backward  glance,  at 
least  at  the  corner,  he  saw  a  man  advancing,  met  him  un 
der  the  next  street  lamp,  glanced  at  him  and  stopped 


250  THE   BLACK   DROP 

with  a  sense  of  shock.  For  it  was  the  same  man,  the  same 
beard,  the  same  cloak,  the  impossible  hat.  How  had  he 
come  there,  walking  leisurely  up  the  street?  He  couldn't 
have  gone  by  on  the  other  side,  however  lightly  he  might 
have  run,  for  Charles  himself  was  hurrying.  This  time 
Charles  did  pause,  with  a  word  on  the  tip  of  his  tongue, 
but  the  other,  not  looking  at  him,  quickened  his  pace  and 
passed.  And  Charles  before  turning  the  corner,  looked 
back,  and  the  street  was  empty.  The  figure  had  disap 
peared.  Charles  was  not  a  man  to  be  unreasonably 
alarmed,  but  he  was  a  man  to  be  angry  if  circumstances 
mocked  at  him.  And  all  the  conditions  of  his  life  were 
strange  just  now.  He  was  running  with  a  crowd  of  de 
voted  criminals  —  devoted  to  a  fatherland  which  was  the 
big  parent  criminal  —  and  he  was  never  surprised  at  find 
ing  they  were  watched  nor  that  he  in  turn  might  be.  If 
anything  looked  queer,  these  were  times  for  understanding 
exactly  what  the  queerness  meant.  While  he  was  debat 
ing  the  present  riddle,  and  almost  concluding  his  eyes  had 
played  him  false,  he  got  to  his  own  house,  and  there  under 
the  light,  not  ten  feet  from  his  door,  stood  the  same  man, 
cloak,  pointed  beard  and  impossible  hat.  And  now  Charles 
did  stop,  perhaps  a  dozen  paces  from  him,  and  said  em 
phatically  : 

"Well,  I'll  be  damned!" 

The  stranger  must  have  heard  the  challenging  voice, 
though  he  gave  no  sign  of  hearing.  He  moved  away ;  but 
Charles  walked  after  him,  and  was  aware  that  the  other 
quickened  his  steps  and  lengthened  his  stride  until  he  was 
practically  on  the  run.  Suddenly  he  wheeled,  ran  back  to 
him  with  an  incredible  lightness,  touched  him  on  the  arm, 
said  "  Tag !  "  in  a  high,  thin  voice  and  ran  on,  ran  wildly, 
Charles  thought,  as  he  stood  stupidly  watching  him.  And 


THE   BLACK   DROP  251 

he  continued  to  run  with  unabated  speed,  until,  two  blocks 
at  least  up  the  street,  he  must  have  turned  a  corner,  for 
he  disappeared. 

Charles  went  up  his  own  steps,  took  out  his  key  and  let 
himself  in.  And  now  he  knew  where  he  had  seen  that  im 
possible  hat.  It  was  on  the  stage.  An  Irishman 
had  worn  it,  in  some  old-fashioned  play  of  a  conventional 
type.  But  what  the  deuce  did  this  man  mean  by  wearing 
it  here? 


XXV 

THAT  Charles  had  been  actually  shaken  by  the  vision 
of  his  absurd  pursuer,  showed  him  chiefly  that  he  was,  as 
he  would  have  said  "  jumpy,"  not  by  any  means  fit.  And 
though  he  had  asked  his  father  for  the  use  of  Grasslands 
because  he  was  not  sleeping  well,  he  hadn't  actually 
thought  anything  about  the  quality  of  his  sleeping.  But 
now,  his  attention  called  to  himself,  he  found  he  was 
scarcely  sleeping  at  all.  He  had  too  many  irons  in  the 
fire  not  to  find  himself  worn  in  tending  them.  His  mys 
terious  follower  he  had  no  difficulty  in  placing.  By  that 
last  fantastic  action  the  fellow  had  placed  himself.  He 
was  crazy,  that  was  all,  a  madman.  And  the  chances 
were  that  he  would  exercise  his  fantastic  activities 
elsewhere  until  he  was  scooped  up  and  taken  off  to  the 
retreat  from  which  he  had  escaped. 

But  there  Charles  found  himself  mistaken.  When  he 
came  out  of  his  house  next  morning  there  was  the  fellow 
on  the  opposite  side  of  the  street,  standing  still  and  look 
ing  across  at  the  house,  precisely  as  he  had  stood  in  front 
of  Elsa's  house  the  night  before.  It  was  a  bright  day 
and  he  was  easily  recognizable  from  the  outline  of  his 
eccentric  clothes.  Charles  most  literally  could  not  be 
lieve  his  eyes,  but  he  made  straight  across  the  street  to 
confirm  them,  and  the  instant  he  stepped  down  from  the 
curb  the  fellow,  with  the  ease  and  buoyancy  of  last  night, 
skipped  lightly  away,  skipped  literally,  for  he  would  take 

252 


THE    BLACK    DROP  253 

a  run  of  a  few  steps  and  then  break  into  a  fantastic  hop 
or  two.  But  he  covered  ground  amazingly,  and  Charles, 
walking  like  a  decently  athletic  citizen,  fell  behind  inevi 
tably.  Should  he  break  into  a  run?  Two  or  three  well 
set  up  men  like  himself  were  walking  down  town,  and  he  saw 
them  turn,  one  after  another,  and  look  back  at  the  fan 
tastic  figure  dancing  past.  None  of  them  were  men  he 
knew,  and  he  couldn't  quite  stop  them  to  compare  im 
pressions  of  the  mountebank  who,  in  spite  of  their  casual 
wonder,  seemed  of  more  importance  to  him  than  anybody. 
He  kept  on  at  his  own  rapid  pace  which  was,  after  all, 
ineffectual,  for  the  fellow,  putting  on  speed,  rounded  a 
corner  and  was  lost.  Then  Charles  turned  about 
and  continued  his  way  down  town;  but  he  did,  in  spite 
of  himself,  stop  more  than  once  to  look  behind  him.  The 
rest  of  the  adventure  was,  he  concluded  afterward,  when 
he  had  reached  his  office  and  passed  the  blonde  guardian 
at  the  telephone,  to  the  seclusion  of  his  own  den,  incredible. 
For  as  he  neared  an  alley  on  Washington  Street,  the  figure 
bounded  out,  touched  him  on  the  arm,  said  "  Tag !  "  and 
vanished  into  a  department  store.  And  Charles's  luck 
was  not  with  him,  for  there  was  no  policeman  in  sight 
and  though  passers-by  must  have  seen,  only  two  or  three 
turned  to  look,  and  one  man  laughed  out,  with  a  sudden 
burst  like  a  yelp,  as  if  he  were  too  astonished  to  manage 
a  tone  of  voice.  It  was  absurd,  but,  as  he  went  up  the 
stairs,  Charles  did  feel  a  crawling  of  the  spine.  There 
was  nothing  alarming  about  the  matter;  it  was  simply 
queer.  Yet  he  was  living  so  near  the  line  of  demarcation 
between  things  ordinary  and  the  dangers  attendant  on  a 
man  outside  the  law,  that  the  merely  queer  bore,  even  by 
daylight,  a  disproportioned  significance.  He  could  not 
afford  to  pass  it  by,  though  he  could  not,  unless  unseen, 


254  THE   BLACK   DROP 

stop  to  investigate  it.  His  lifelong  policy  had  been  to 
offend  no  man,  to  call  no  attention  to  his  own  grievances, 
to  preserve  an  unbroken  benevolence  toward  all.  As  he 
passed  through  the  outer  room  the  blonde-haired  chate 
laine  looked  up  with  her  best  smile  and  waited  for  the 
good-morning  he  accorded  her  with  an  ornamental  fringe 
of  solicitude  about  the  temperature  of  the  room.  Then, 
having  assured  himself  of  her  comfort,  he  gave  orders  that 
no  one  should  be  admitted  until  Brennan,  Finch  and  Bailey 
had  come  and  gone  and  went  on  to  his  room,  leaving  her 
in  an  upper  heaven  of  renewed  devotion. 

He  found  his  room  of  the  right  temperature,  and  took 
off  his  coat  with  a  feeling  of  relief  at  having  attained  a 
seclusion  secure  from  damned  lunatics.  And  as  he  turned 
to  his  chair,  there  on  the  desk,  in  an  elaborate  scrolled 
frame,  was  the  photograph  of  the  lunatic,  confronting  him. 
Charles  for  a  moment  stood  stiff  as  a  dog,  pointing,  before 
he  took  the  thing  up  to  regard  it  closely.  So  impossible 
had  the  whole  business  seemed  that  he  felt  a  mild  surprise 
in  finding  the  framed  picture  palpable  to  the  touch.  He 
stood  and  looked  at  it:  a  spectacled,  much  lined  face  with 
a  pointed  beard  under  the  shade  of  the  absurd  hat.  The 
whole  thing  was  faithful  to  his  vision.  The  cloak  was 
there,  the  long  thin  legs  encased  in  trousers  not  unlike  the 
trousers  of  the  present  date.  But  the  upper  half  of  the 
creature  was  queer  beyond  expression,  and  actually  rather 
alarming.  For  he  was  scowling  fearfully,  and  in  one 
hand  he  held  a  pistol  so  enormous,  so  palpably  of  the  past, 
that  Charles  would  never  have  known  what  period  to  give 
it.  Suddenly  he  woke  to  the  impudence  of  somebody 
within  his  own  walls,  strode  to  the  door  and  pounced  upon 
her  of  the  blonde  thatch.  Not  such  the  perfection  of  a 
gentleman  who  had  passed  her  five  minutes  since,  after 


THE   BLACK  DROP  255 

that  memorable  solicitude  about  temperature  and  the  ac 
cessibility  of  her  desk  to  a  draft.  Charles  looked  threat 
ening  and  not  to  be  withstood.  He  was  all  employer  now, 
the  employer  who  means  business  and  nothing  else.  He 
spoke: 

"  Who  put  this  on  my  desk?  " 

She  looked  from  his  altered  face  to  the  picture  in  his 
hand,  and  it  would  have  been  impossible  to  doubt  the  sin 
cerity  of  her  surprise. 

"  For  goodness  sake!  "  said  she.     "  Isn't  that  fierce?  " 
"  Who,"  Charles  repeated,  "put  that  on  my  desk?  " 
She  sobered,  telling  herself  inwardly  it  was  up  to  her. 
"  Honest,  Mr.  Tracy,"  she  said,  "  I  don't  know." 
"  Have  you  been  in  my  room  this  morning?  " 
"  No,  Mr.  Tracy.     Freddie  came  in  here  with  the  mail 
and  I  asked  him  if  he'd  dusted  and  he  said  he  had.     I 
suppose  I  ought  to  have  gone  in,  but  there  was  a  lot  of 
things  left  over  from  last  night,  and  I  just  didn't." 
"  Call  up  Fred." 

Fred  was  the  boy,  and  he  came,  indifferently  cheerful, 
for  Charles's  benevolence  had  been  stretched  to  include 
him.  But  his  unenquiring  face  at  once  took  on  the  reti 
cence  of  caution  learned  in  offices  where  favor  is  found  to 
be  capricious,  and  he  stood  frowning  a  little  in  his  effort 
to  meet  the  situation ;  but  when  Charles  put  his  question  he 
answered  readily  enough.  Yes,  he'd  seen  the  picture.  It 
was  there  when  he  went  in  to  dust.  Noticed  it  because  it 
was  so  funny.  No,  sir,  he  didn't  put  it  on  the  desk. 
Didn't  touch  it.  Never  touched  the  desk.  Told  not  to. 
No,  sir,  didn't  know  a  thing  about  it.  So  he  was  dismissed, 
and  while  Charles  stood  there,  absently  regarding  the 
chatelaine,  but  really  wondering  what  the  deuce  the  whole 
thing  meant,  Bailey  appeared  and  Charles,  greeting  him 


256  THE   BLACK   DROP 

curtly,  at  once  took  him  into  the  inner  room.  He  set  the 
picture  down  again  on  his  desk,  because  there  seemed  noth 
ing  else  to  do  with  it,  and  asked  Bailey  abruptly,  really 
to  cover  the  absurdity  of  his  having  the  thing  in  his  hand : 

"What  should  you  call  that?  " 

Bailey  was  in  fine  form,  pink,  smiling,  radiating  good 
cheer. 

"That?"  he  said.  "The  piccy?  Funny  devil. 
What's  he  up  to?" 

"  I  mean,"  said  Charles,  floundering,  "  where'd  you 
place  him?  What's  his  period?" 

"  What  is  he,  anyway?  "  Bailey  inquired,  with  a  cheer 
ful  interest.  "Fancy  dress?  amateur  theatricals?  or  a 
lunatic  out  on  a  bum?  " 

"  That's  it,"  said  Charles,  shutting  his  lips  on  his  own 
foolish  sense  of  the  importance  of  the  thing.  "  Fancy 
dress." 

He  dismissed  the  lunatic  for  the  moment,  and  took  his 
chair. 

"  Sit  down,  Bailey,"  said  he.     "  Where  are  the  others." 

Bailey  sat,  and  continued  to  emanate  radiance. 

"  They  couldn't  come,"  he  said.  "  Infernally  busy, 
both  of  'em.  I'm  the  representative." 

"  I  don't  like  that,"  said  Charles.  "  I  wanted  you  all 
together." 

"  Well,  you  see,"  said  Bailey,  "  they've  both  got  some 
corking  ideas,  this  morning,  and  you  couldn't  pry  'em  out 
of  their  holes.  Now  my  head  was  as  empty  as  a  bag." 
Charles  glanced  at  him  suspiciously,  the  word  had  come 
to  mean  so  much.  But  Bailey  was  free  from  any  hidden 
intent.  "  I  thought  you  and  I  could  have  a  powwow,  and 
then  to-night,  when  they've  worked  off  steam,  I  could  pass 
over  the  whole  thing  to  them." 


THE    BLACK   DROP  257 

"  Well,"  said  Charles,  "  the  amount  of  it  is,  something's 
the  matter  and  I  don't  know  exactly  how  to  put  it." 

"  Oh,  come,"  said  Bailey,  "  you  not  know !  You're 
the  lucidest  thing  out.  Fire  away." 

"  The  fact  is,"  said  Charles,  hesitating  with  a  true 
sense  of  the  value  of  the  pause,  "  there's  a  lot  of  propa 
ganda  going  on." 

"  German?  "  inquired  Bailey,  with  innocence.  "  Pro- 
German?  "  He  was  always  cutting  in  with  things  cal 
culated  to  draw  Charles's  keenest  interrogation  and  with  a 
countenance  so  blank,  so  innocent  of  guile,  there  was 
nothing  for  the  inquisitor  to  do  but  look  away  again. 

"  No,"  said  Charles,  "  not  pro-German.  But  anti- 
American,  if  I  may  put  it  so :  a  propaganda  that  militates 
against  America's  best  interests,  ignoring  her  traditions, 
you  know,  pushing  her  into  war." 

"  Oh,"  said  Bailey  lightly,  "  pushing  us  into  war !  " 

"  Yes.  There  is  evidently  an  organized  campaign. 
Fliers  are  scattered  in  all  conceivable  places.  Stuff  is 
sent  in  to  papers.  I  know  the  firm  that  prints  it  and  I've 
even  been  down  there  and  put  a  question  or  two.  But 
they  won't  give  away  the  game.  In  fact,  the  fellow  I 
saw  simply  wouldn't  say  anything:  stood  there  and 
grinned." 

"  Grinned !  "  said  Bailey.  "  What  a  fool  thing  to  do." 
He  grinned  himself  broadly,  for  Charles  was,  at  the  mo 
ment,  not  looking  at  him.  His  eyes  were  bent  on  the  tips 
of  his  beautiful  fingers,  of  which  he  was  justly  proud. 
"  But,"  Bailey  ventured,  "  it  may  be  un-American  and 
immoral  and  all  that,  but  I  don't  see  there's  anything  you 
can  do  about  it." 

"  The  queerest  part  of  it  I  haven't  gone  into,"  said 
Charles.  "  The  cleverest  of  the  stuff  is  precisely  like 


258  THE   BLACK   DROP 

what  you  and  Finch  used  to  do  before  you  signed  on  with 
me.  And  it  has  been  suggested  to  me  that  you  are  doing 
it." 

"  It  has?  "  responded  Bailey,  in  a  curious  voice,  light 
of  cadence  and  yet,  it  might  be  thought,  perversely  threat 
ening.  "  Well,  what  do  you  think  about  it?  " 

"  I?  "  said  Charles,  in  an  outburst  of  generous  ardor, 
"  I  don't  have  to  think.  I  know.  I  know  I  am,  by  the 
terms  of  our  agreement,  entitled  to  your  entire  output." 

"  Yes,"  said  Bailey.     "  Right  you  are." 

"  But,"  said  Charles,  "  it's  devilish  uncomfortable,  all 
the  same,  to  have  the  thing  rammed  down  my  throat  a 
dozen  times  a  day.  This  is  what  the  fellows  say :  '  I 
thought  you'd  got  Finch  and  Bailey.  But  I  see  they're 
doing  a  lot  on  their  own.' ' 

"  You  could  down  'em  best  by  using  our  stuff ,"  said 
Bailey  lightly.  "  I  only  suggest,  you  know." 

"  My  dear  boy,  I'm  going  to,  as  soon  as  the  public  mind 
is  ready  for  it.  You're  hot  stuff,  you  know,  you  fellows. 
But  it's  the  deuce  and  all  to  see  your  work  —  Finch's 
fables,  your  verse  —  cropping  up  every  week  in  those 
impudent  fliers  they're  sending  out." 

"Who?" 

"  I  tell  you  I  don't  know.  All  I  know  is  it  shows  your 
hand,  only  it's  better." 

"Better,"  cried  Bailey,  off  his  guard.  "No,  I'll  be 
hanged  if  it's  better." 

Charles,  smiling  a  little,  saw  his  trap  had  snapped  some 
thing.  They  weren't  in  it,  after  all,  or  Bailey  would 
never  have  been  so  piqued.  Bailey,  too,  instantly  felt 
himself  grazed.  He  became  at  once  courteous,  even  cere 
monious. 

"  I  can  only  say,  Mr.  Tracy,"  he  said,  "  that  we  have 


THE   BLACK   DROP  259 

kept  strictly  to  our  agreement.  I  have,  and  I  can  an 
swer  for  Brennan  and  Finch.  And  if  there  is  anything  in 
an  implied  good  faith,  anything  more  than  the  letter  of 
the  bond,  I  think  we  should  have  cause  to  be  better  satisfied 
if  you  had  done  us  the  honor  of  using  the  stuff  you  bought. 
I'm  afraid  I  must  run  along.  Can  I  see  the  clock  from 
here?  "  He  got  up,  and  went  to  the  window.  "  By 
George !  "  he  cried,  "  there's  our  friend  now." 

"  What  friend?  "  inquired  Charles  absently.  He  was 
wondering  whether  Bailey  had  anything  to  tell  him  and  how 
he  could  get  at  it.  Bailey,  in  spite  of  his  verse,  was,  he 
believed,  a  simple  soul,  too  childish  in  his  attack  on  real 
ities  to  illuminate  them  by  any  of  the  lightning  insight 
of  his  rhymes. 

"  That  Johnnie  in  the  picture,  cloak,  hat  and  all.  Pis 
tol?  I  don't  see  the  pistol.  No,  I  s'pose  he  wouldn't  rig 
up  in  that  —  be  arrested  if  he  did.  Though  in  the  pic 
ture  you  couldn't  call  it  a  concealed  weapon,  now  could 
you?  " 

Charles  wheeled  round  to  the  window,  got  up,  and  looked 
down.  There  he  was  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  street, 
immovable,  staring  at  the  window  of  the  Voice.  Bailey 
seemed  electrified  by  the  eccentricity  of  the  event. 

"  I'm  going  to  run  him  down,"  said  he.     "  Watch  me." 

He  plunged  out  of  the  room,  pell  mell,  and  Charles, 
standing  at  the  window,  presently  saw  the  figure  below 
start,  turn,  step  out  into  the  street  and  dash  away.  And 
Bailey,  light  of  leg,  was  dashing  after  him.  The  crowd 
turned  to  look,  and  then  went  on  again,  and  Charles  could 
see  that  some  were  smiling.  He  stood  there  thinking  with 
interest  that  although  they  seemed  about  the  same  height 
and  suppleness,  he'd  bet  on  Bailey,  when  he  was  aware  that 
the  chatelaine  had  opened  the  door  and  advanced  a  pace. 


260  THE    BLACK    DROP 

"  Mr.  Tracy,"  said  she,  "  I've  thought  what  it  is.  It's 
that  Harvard  club.  It's  the  Dickey.  A  stunt,  you 
know." 

His  brow  cleared. 

"  Why,  yes,"  said  he,  "  of  course  it  is.  Why  didn't  I 
think  of  that?" 

In  about  twenty  minutes  his  telephone  rang  and  he  found 
Bailey  at  the  line. 

"  See  here,"  said  Bailey,  dramatically  panting,  "  I'm 
done  with  that  Johnnie.  What  do  you  think  he  did?  He 
led  me  a  chase  up  to  the  Common  and  down  the  Beacon 
mall  and  ran  over  every  bench  on  the  way.  And  at  the 
foot  of  Beacon  Street  he  jumped  into  a  taxi  and  was  off. 
And  he  stood  up  and  waved  his  hat  to  me." 

Charles  laughed. 

"  That's  all  right,"  he  said.     "  It's  the  Dickey." 

"Don't  you  believe  it,"  said  Bailey.  "That's  no 
Dickey.  It's  something  else  that  begins  with  a  D." 

And  when  Charles  went  home  that  night  and  was  tagged 
from  a  doorway  on  Washington  Street  by  a  swiftly  mov 
ing  figure  in  the  cloak  and  hat,  saw  the  same  figure  wav 
ing  to  him  from  a  slow-moving  taxi  near  the  Athenaeum, 
a  vehicle  that  at  once  put  on  speed  and  disappeared  down 
Somerset  Street,  and  when,  nearly  at  his  own  door,  he  saw 
the  same  figure  descending  his  steps,  he  did  not  think  it 
was  the  Dickey.  But  he  would  give  it  one  more  day  to 
be  the  Dickey  before  he  also  sprinted  and  made  a  serious 
business  of  running  it  down.  So  he  walked  along  at  a 
good  pace,  wondering  if  a  sudden  burst  would  catch  the 
fellow,  when  the  figure  paused,  seemed  suddenly  to  become 
aware  of  him,  threw  him  a  kiss  from  both  hands  and  ran 
lightly  up  the  street.  And  if  it  was  the  Dickey,  thought 
Charles,  why  was  he  the  one  selected  for  its  pranks? 


XXVI 

JOHN,  now  on  his  feet,  telephoned  Jessie  and  asked  her 
to  go  to  walk.  Would  she  mind  being  at  the  foot  of  her 
stairs  in  ten  minutes  because  he  wasn't  quite  fit  again  and 
didn't  trust  himself  to  come  up?  He  went  limping  out, 
not  noticing  the  man  across  the  street  who  seemed  equally 
not  to  notice  him,  but  did,  as  John  walked  away,  lounge 
indifferently  after,  and  he  found  Jessie  at  her  steps,  a 
sweet  person  in  her  fur  jacket  and  audacious  little  hat, 
and,  he  could  see  with  half  an  eye,  looking  anxious.  At 
that  he  frowned.  What  was  she  anxious  about?  Was  she 
going  to  take  up  the  family  cry  and  tell  him  he  ought  to 
be  in  bed?  But  Jessie  made  no  delicate  feints  over  his 
imprudence  nor  did  she  congratulate  him  on  recovery. 
With  the  admirable  sense  that  was  Jessie,  she  had  resolved 
thenceforth  neither  to  commiserate  him  on  his  misfortune 
nor  ignore  it.  Though  indeed  it  had  got  to  be  recognized, 
turned  out  for,  like  a  hole  in  the  road,  even  though  some 
body  had  put  up  a  sign-board.  But  there  wasn't  going  to 
be  any  false  delicacy  about  a  thing  which  wasn't  a  dis 
grace,  only  a  heavy  handicap  for  gallant  youth. 

"  I  don't  want  to  walk,"  she  said  at  once,  conceding  this 
much  of  diplomacy  to  his  weakness,  "  but  I've  got  lots  to 
say.  Let's  go  to  the  Athenaeum,  into  one  of  those  upper 
galleries.  There's  a  room  nobody's  ever  in,  and  if  some 
body  is  we  can  go  away  again." 

He  was  very  willing,  and  they  walked  slowly  up  the  hill, 

261 


THE   BLACK   DROP 

Jessie  making  the  pace.  She  began  at  once  her  task  of 
confession. 

"  I  didn't  tell  you  all  there  was  about  my  going  to  Grass 
lands." 

"  You  didn't?  "  demanded  John.     "  Why  didn't  you?  " 

"  Because,"  said  Jessie,  "  you  were  having  such  an  awful 
time." 

"  If  that  isn't  like  a  girl !  " 

He  stopped  a  moment,  pretending  he  wanted  to  look 
at  her  and  censure  her  the  more  brusquely,  but  really 
because  he  felt  a  misery  of  pain.  That  was  one  of  his 
tricks.  He  would  often  stop  to  laugh  or  fulminate, 
and  no  companion  ever  guessed  it  was  because  the  leg 
stopped  of  itself.  But  Jessie  knew.  She  faced  him,  and 
laughed  delightfully. 

"  Let's  stand  right  here,"  she  said,  "  and  fight  it  out. 
I  won't  stir  till  I've  had  my  say.  The  fact  is,  what  I 
didn't  tell  you  had  nothing  whatever  to  do  with  the  matter 
in  hand.  At  least,  not  very  much." 

There,  at  the  end,  she  had  perceptibly  weakened.  He 
was  ready  to  go  on  and  she  saw  it  and  made  the  move. 

"Well,"  said  John  impatiently,  "what  was  it?  what 
didn't  you  tell  me?  " 

"  Oh,  dear !  "  she  said  unwillingly,  debating  whether  he 
could  bear  to  lose  his  temper  best  in  the  open  or  in  the 
Athenasum  where  he  would  have  to  conform  to  sacred  still 
nesses.  "  After  I  had  looked  for  the  bag  and  found  it 
wasn't  there,  I  saw  a  woman  and  a  man." 

"Where?" 

"  In  the  woods." 

"  What  doing?  " 

"  Looking  for  something.      Searching." 

"  Near  you?  " 


THE    BLACK   DROP  263 

"Yes.  I  was  pulling  up  ground  pine,  and  the  woman 
saw  me  and  she  called  out  that  that's  what  she  was  looking 
for." 

"  Oh !  "  said  John.  "  Very  likely.  There's  a  lot  of  it 
there.  Shall  we  go  in  ?  " 

They  were  at  the  Athenaeum  door,  and  they  did  go  in 
and  took  the  elevator  up  to  one  of  those  spaces  which 
were,  as  Jessie  had  predicted,  empty. 

"  Come  into  this  alcove,"  said  she,  "where  we  can  see 
if  anybody  comes.  Then  we  can  hush  up.  I  don't  sup 
pose  anybody's  any  real  right  to  talk,  even  up  here.  I 
know  it  makes  me  mad  as  fury." 

They  found  chairs  by  the  window,  and  she  went  on  at 
once  and  finished  her  tale  of  the  man  and  the  woman  hunt 
ing  for  ground  pine. 

"  And,"  she  said,  at  the  end,  "  they  weren't  hunting  for 
it.  That's  the  joke." 

"  How  do  you  know  they  weren't?  " 

"  Because  I  went  over  where  they'd  been,  and  there  was 
a  lot  right  there  at  their  feet." 

John  felt  his  tepid  interest  suddenly  boiling. 

"  How'd  they  look?  "  he  asked,  and  she  described  Elsa, 
while  he  stared  at  her  in  a  fixed  intensity.  "  Yes,"  said 
he  quietly,  when  she  had  finished  —  and  a  very  good  de 
scription  it  was  —  "  you  needn't  say  any  more.  I've  got 
her.  That's  Mrs.  Davenport." 

"  Mrs.  Davenport !     Do  you  know  about  her?  " 

"  Don't  you  know?  " 

This  he  was  glad  to  ask.  He  had  been  wondering  how 
much  Helen  told  her.  Nothing  vital,  he  fancied,  for  she 
only  said : 

"  Whoe-ver  she  is,  she  knows  how  to  wear  her  clothes." 

"Well!  well!"  he  spurred  her,  "the  man?  Who  was 
he?" 


264  THE    BLACK    DROP 

"  I  don't  know  who  he  was.  But  he  had  a  red  beard  and 
a  wry  face  and  big  ears.  They  were  so  big  his  hat  sat  on 
them." 

"  Now,  who,"  said  John  to  himself,  "  who  the  mischief 
could  that  be?  For  he  was  there  that  night.  Only  I 
didn't  think  of  him  then  as  any  more  important  than  the 
rest." 

"  And,"  said  Jessie,  "  when  I  found  they  weren't  look 
ing  for  ground  pine,  I  began  to  believe  it  wasn't  the  Herr 
Captain's  hair  brushes  only  in  the  bag.  For  they  were 
hunting,  just  as  I'd  been.  They'd  been  hunting  for  the 
bag." 

They  sat  in  silence  a  moment,  John  staring  out  of  the 
window  and  Jessie  taking  the  opportunity  of  stealing  a 
look  at  him  and  very  much  liking  his  face  when  it  was  still. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  they  were  hunting  for  the  bag. 
That's  something,  in  a  way,  because  it  proves  that,  who- 
ever's  got  it,  it  wasn't  Charles." 

"  You  thought  you  heard  somebody  behind  you  in  the 
woods.  Mustn't  it  have  been  he?  " 

"  Probably.  But  I  thought  then  whoever  it  was  was 
one  of  the  set  I  saw  in  the  house.  If  it  wasn't,  who  was 
it?" 

Then  they  sat  and  looked  at  each  other.  Jessie  had  a 
theory  or  two  of  the  practical  thing  to  do  now,  but  she 
was  timid  before  him.  It  disturbed  her  exceedingly  some 
times  to  think  how  hard  she  tried  to  please  him  and  how 
difficult  it  was. 

"  I  can  tell  you  one  thing,"  she  said.  "  The  bag  is 
gone  from  where  you  put  it.  And  if  anybody  took  it  away 
from  there  and  hid  it  in  the  woods,  the  two  I  saw  are  pretty 
sure  to  have  found  it,  if  it  was  to  be  found.  Anyway* 
jf  it  was  in  that  section  where  I  was." 


THE    BLACK    DROP  265 

"  The  woods  don't  run  far,"  said  John.  "  There  aren't 
more  than  two  acres.  The  mowing's  beyond." 

"  I  should  advise  your  sending  somebody  down,"  said 
Jessie.  "  Me,  for  preference." 

"  Not  on  your  life,"  said  he.  "  You'd  no  business  to 
go  in  the  first  place." 

"  Well,  there  are  your  three  nice  friends.  Why  not 
send  one  of  them?  Mr.  Bailey!  he's  terribly  clever." 

"  Yes,"  said  John,  thoughtfully,  "  Bailey'd  go  in  a 
minute.  And  if  Charles  found  it  out  and  picked  a  quar 
rel  with  him,  so  much  the  better." 

"  Shall  we  go  along?  "  she  asked.  "I've  told  all  I've 
got  to  tell.  Besides  we  can't  talk  any  more.  Here's  a 
lady  novelist." 

So  they  went  down  again,  and  when  they  stepped  out 
into  the  street  John  halted  and  Jessie  glanced  at  him. 
Little  fine  lines  had  come  about  his  eyes  and  mouth.  She 
knew  what  called  them  there  and  instantly  felt  herself  on 
her  own  ground  and  not  afraid  of  him. 

"  I'll  leave  you  here,"  she  said,  "  after  you've  got  your 
carriage." 

John  turned  to  her  with  a  sudden  imploring  that  showed 
her  how  he  looked  when  he  was  a  little  boy,  and  the  knowl 
edge  moved  her  as  mother  hearts  are  moved.  She  signalled 
to  a  cab  opposite  and  it  swung  out  and  drew  up  for  them. 

"  Wait  one  minute,"  said  she.  "  I  shall  have  to  run  back 
for  something.  You  get  in  and  wait."  She  disappeared 
into  the  Athenaeum,  returning  shortly.  "  I  wanted  to  look 
up  an  address.  It's  that  Landis  you  and  grand- 
sir  are  always  making  fun  of.  I  thought,  now  the  horrid 
thing's  come  on  again,  you  might  like  to  go  there  at  once. 
Shall  I  tell  the  man?" 

She  hadn't  really  any  hope,  for  all  her  bravado.     But 


266  THE   BLACK   DROP 

John  was  answering  quietly,  holding  himself  still,  speak 
ing  the  more  gently  because  his  nerves  were  screaming: 

"  Yes,  you  tell  him,  please." 

That  afternoon  he  came  back  to  his  father's  house  look 
ing,  his  mother  thought,  as  if  he  had  been  through  some 
strange,  exalting  trial.  It  was  the  look  of  pain  that  leaves 
the  body  burned  to  the  ash  of  life,  but,  as  a  fire,  has  gone. 

"  Don't  speak,  mum,"  he  said  to  her,  at  once.  "  Don't 
talk  about  it.  But  I've  been  to  Bones's  doctor  and  he 
laid  his  hand  on  me  —  isn't  that  the  way  it  goes  ?  —  and 
—  mother,  it's  exquisite  not  to  ache." 

Emily  stood  with  her  hands  shut  at  her  sides.  She  did 
not  dare  touch  him.  In  the  aloofness  of  his  relief  there 
was  something  majestic:  he  was  like  one  who  had  been 
through  such  terrible  fields  of  anguish  that  he  knew  what 
others  did  not  and  must  be  regarded  as  we  might  think  of 
the  dead,  if  they  returned. 

"  John,"  said  she  then,  "  are  you  cured?  " 

It  broke  the  spell  between  them. 

"  Lord,  no,  mother,"  he  said.  "I've  got  to  go  to  him 
twice  a  week  —  for  the  rest  of  my  life  for  all  I  know.  But 
cured?  I'm  not  in  pain.  And  he  says  —  well,  I  won't 
tell  you  what  he  says.  You're  such  a  duckie  about  hoping 
you'd  hope  too  much." 

This  was  all  they  said,  and  John  was  amused  to  think, 
days  after,  that  he  hadn't  said  anything  to  Bones  at  all. 
But  he'd  catch  Bones  watching  him,  as  one  would  critically 
watch  a  horse,  he  thought,  to  see  what  his  action  was,  and 
whether  he'd  better  be  sent  straight  back  to  the  vet. 
Bones,  too,  looked  exaltedly  happy,  and  John  pondered 
over  him  a  good  deal,  beginning  to  see  how  rich  a  thing  it 
is  to  be  gifted  with  a  passion  for  the  perfecting  of  the 
ways  of  life. 


THE   BLACK   DROP  267 

That  night  when  John,  rather  tired  with  it  all,  but  still 
not  in  pain,  went  early  to  his  room,  he  stopped  at  his 
father's  door.  There  was  one  thing  out  of  the  confusion 
of  facts  he  had  about  Charles  that  he  intended  to  give  over 
into  his  father's  hands.  Norris,  his  forehead  fretted  by 
the  perplexity  of  his  task,  looked  up  from  the  paper  where 
he  thought  he  was  still  writing  out  the  study  of  Charles, 
though  really  he  was  only  pondering  miserably.  He  woke 
straight  up  from  it  to  John's  presence,  for  Emily  had 
told  him  about  John ;  he  couldn't  quite  believe  it  —  and 
yet,  he  thought,  if  it  gave  the  boy  a  moment's  hope ! 

"  Glad  you  came,  John,"  he  said.  "  I  wanted  to  see 
you  and  tell  you  —  your  mother  says  —  "  There,  struck 
by  the  tired  pallor  of  the  boy's  face  he  stopped,  reflecting 
that  fathers  weren't  always  supposed  to  butt  in  headlong 
on  confidences  intended  perhaps  for  mothers  alone. 

"  I  wanted  to  say,"  said  John  awkwardly,  since  he 
couldn't  tell  all  he  knew,  "  that  Charles  isn't  alone  at 
Grasslands." 

"  How'd  you  know  he  was  at  Grasslands  at  all?  "  asked 
his  father,  looking  at  him  sharply.  Perhaps  he  was 
reaching  out  at  some  community  of  confidence  between 
his  son  and  himself,  about  this  other  son  who  evaded  him 
actually  and  also  in  that  inner  life  he  had  tried  to  set 
forth  on  paper.  Could  John  help  him  understand? 

"  I  went  down  there,"  said  John.  "  I  had  an  errand. 
And  I  found  Charles  there.  He  had  some  fellows  with 
him." 

"  Yes,"  said  his  father.  "  He's  told  me  about  it.  The 
thing  happened  quite  naturally.  The  men  wanted  to  talk 
witli  him  about  a  better  cable  service,  and  they  followed 
him  down  there.  He  hadn't  meant  to  call  a  business  meet 
ing,  but  he  had  to,  I  could  quite  see." 


268  THE   BLACK   DROP 

"  Oh ! "  said  John.     "  Well,  I  can,  too." 

He  went  on  to  his  room  where  he  expected  Bailey,  sum 
moned  by  messenger  as  soon  as  he  got  home.  And  by  the 
time  he  had  his  fire  going  —  the  Tracys  so  loved  fires 
that  they  were  perpetually  turning  off  central  heat  to 
build  a  little  blaze  —  Bailey  came,  fresh  as  the  morning 
and  so  vivid  in  his  zest  of  life  that  you'd  have  called  him 
the  morning  itself.  The  two  long-legged  fellows  stretched 
themselves  in  chairs  and  John  at  once  gave  Bailey  a  work 
ing  version  of  what  he  wanted.  He  and  Charles,  he  told 
Bailey,  were  manoeuvring  for  possession  of  a  bag. 
At  present  neither  of  them  had  it  and  it  had  got  to  be 
found.  John  had  had  it  temporarily  and  hidden  it  under 
the  bridge  at  Grasslands ;  and  then  he  told  how  it  hadn't 
stayed  under  the  bridge,  and  how  worse  than  useless  it 
was  for  him  to  look  for  it,  first  because  he  couldn't  trust 
his  leg  just  now  and  again  because,  it  being  an  issue  be 
tween  him  and  Charles,  Charles  mustn't  know  he  was 
looking.  The  woods  near  the  bridge  had  got  to  be 
searched.  Would  Bailey  undertake  the  quest?  And 
would  he  also  undertake  to  find  out  who  was  staying  at 
Grasslands,  or  whether  there  was  anybody?  Here  was 
John's  key.  He  might  go  in,  if  he  liked.  And  couldn't 
he  telephone  Charles  and  make  an  appointment  with  him 
for  Brennan  or  Finch  to  talk  over  their  stuff,  and,  if 
Charles  made  it,  seize  that  time  to  fly  down  to  Grasslands  ? 

"  Sure,"  said  Bailey.  "  The  rape  of  the  bag !  But 
who  do  you  think  it  is  staying  in  the  house?  " 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  And  what'll  I  do  if  I  find  'em?  " 

"  Nothing.     Report  to  me." 

"  If  the  bag  wasn't  where  you  left  it,  what  makes  you 
think  it's  anywhere  else  in  the  woods  ?  " 


THE    BLACK    DROP  269 

"  Because  somebody  working  for  Charles  —  that  I  know 
—  was  seen  searching  the  woods.  And  I  assume 
-  you've  got  to  assume  something  —  one  of  his  gang  hid 
it  and  forgot  where." 

Bailey  nodded.  He  was  "  on  "  he  assured  John,  though 
how  far  on  such  a  slippery  plane  of  conjecture  John 
couldn't  guess.  Then  Bailey  looked  suddenly  serious  and 
remarked : 

"  Your  Charles  is  a  queer  Dick." 

"  Yes,"  said  John  dryly.  "  You're  on  there.  What 
now?" 

"Well,  you  know  our  Man  without  a  Country  series? 
We've  been  piling  it  in  on  him,  hot  as  we  could  turn  it  out, 
every  instalment  worse  than  the  last,  deadly  insults  every 
one  of  'em:  Charles  Tracy  betraying  his  country  in  all 
the  stock  ways.  I  thought  before  this  we  should  have  had 
a  row  to  be  heard  down  the  harbor  and  out  at  sea  —  wire 
lessed  to  Deutschland.  And  of  course  we  hoped  he'd 
turn  us  out,  neck  and  crop.  But  what  do  you  think?  He 
accepts  the  work.  He  smiles  urbanely,  says,  '  Bully !  rip 
ping  !  '  and  pats  us  on  the  back." 

John  nodded. 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  "  that's  Charles.  He  won't  quarrel 
with  you.  He'll  ignore  everything  you  want  him  to  see, 
and  if  the  time  comes  when  he  doesn't  need  you  he'll  quietly 
slice  your  heads  off." 

"  Need  us  !  "  echoed  Bailey.  "  He  can't  be  in  any  great 
need  of  stuff  he  puts  an  extinguisher  on,  like  a  bedroom 
candle." 

"  Of  course,"  said  John,  "that's  what  he  wanted  you 
for.  He  knew  he  couldn't  get  out  of  you  the  sort  of 
work  he'd  use,  but  he  could  stop  your  activities  everywhere 
else." 


270  THE   BLACK   DROP 

This,  deeply  as  John  distrusted  his  brother,  bitterly  as 
he  felt  his  renegade  tactics,  it  hurt  him  to  say.  The 
family  again,  he  thought  angrily.  Because  Charles  was 
the  family  he  shrank,  out  of  the  fierce  pride  of  it  all,  to 
admit  even  a  friend  to  his  disgrace.  John  still  failed  to 
understand  families. 

Bailey,  grown  grave,  sat  for  a  moment  looking  at  the 
fire. 

"  I  suppose,"  he  said,  at  last,  "  that's  about  it.  He  did 
us,  that's  all.  But  he  thinks  he's  got  one  on  us.  What 
do  you  s'pose  he  sent  for  me  for?  sent  for  us  all  three,  but  I 
went,  to  represent  the  firm.  He's  seen  the  fliers  going  out 
from  somewhere  in  Boston  and  recognized  the  style.  And 
he  charges  Finch  and  me  with  writing  the  things  in  defiance 
of  our  contracts." 

"  Oh,"  said  John,  "  I  didn't  think  of  that." 

"  I  told  him,  not  guilty,"  said  Bailey.  "  I  guess  he 
believed  me.  But  I  didn't  tell  him  there  was  only  one  man 
clever  enough  to  pull  it  off.  Though  John,  old  boy,  you'll 
bust  yourself  doing  your  work  and  ours  too." 

"  What  else  was  left  me,"  John  inquired  bluntly,  "  when 
you  got  into  this  mess  that  simply  means  your  work  is  can 
celled,  done,  down  and  out  for  at  least  three  years,  which 
may  be  the  period  of  the  war?  " 

Bailey  sat  still,  staring  into  the  fire.  He  didn't  look 
now  as  if  he  saw  young  April  in  every  bush. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  we  made  our  throw  and  we  lost. 
Sometimes  I  think  I'll  repudiate  the  contract,  tear  the 
thing  up  and  tell  him  I'm  on  my  own  again." 

"  No,"  said  John  viciously,  "  what  is  written  is  written. 
No  scraps  of  paper  in  ours.  Besides,  you're  not  likely  to 
scare  him  into  tearing  up  the  duplicates." 

Bailey  was  sunken  in  gloom,  at  once  irradiated. 


THE    BLACK    DROP  271 

"  Nothing's  final,"  he  swaggered.  "  It  wouldn't  be  be 
yond  belief  for  us  to  make  him  scrap  us,  in  fear  of  worse. 
Meantime,  old  boy  — 

"  Meantime,"  said  John,  "  I'll  keep  on  copying  you 
simply  because  you're  the  cleverest  things  I  know.  Rot 
ten  luck  I  can't  copy  Brennan,  too.  But  you  and  Finch 
I  can,  and  by  the  time  you  come  back  to  the  open  market 
again  you'll  find  I've  got  it  away  from  you." 

He  met  Bailey's  grin  with  a  like  one  of  his  own,  both 
boyish,  ardent,  full  of  braggadocio  and  enormous  admira 
tion  for  the  youngness  of  it  all. 


XXVII 

LATE  the  next  afternoon  Bailey  went  down  to  Grass 
lands.  He  had  not  thought  it  well  to  consult  John  about 
the  time  of  going,  having  his  own  ideas  of  that  and  seeing 
no  necessity  for  inviting  argument.  If  he  was  to  find  out 
who  was  in  the  house,  it  could  be  done  better  after  dark. 
He  couldn't  imagine  himself  walking  up  to  it  by  daylight, 
overlooked  from  the  windows,  perhaps  letting  himself 
in  with  John's  key  and  stumbling  at  once  over  the  inmates 
he  had  come  down  to  spot.  And  how  could  he,  whatever 
the  time  of  day,  find  out  who  was  there  without  a  good 
amount  of  dangerous  audacity?  That  evening  there  was, 
at  least,  no  danger  of  Charles's  appearing.  Finch  had 
seen  to  that.  He  had  asked  for  an  appointment  to  talk 
over  the  policy  of  the  Voice  —  an  impudence  Charles  him 
self  couldn't  help  staring  at,  because  he  knew,  by  this  time, 
the  three  had  no  smallest  idea  of  following  anything  but 
their  own  mad  will  —  and  Charles  had  set  the  hour  imme 
diately  after  dinner.  Bailey  knew  he  could  spend  the 
night  at  the  workmen's  boarding-house  which  called  itself 
a  tavern  and  begin  his  search  of  the  woods  in  the  early 
morning.  So  he  set  out,  with  a  moderate  degree  of  as 
surance,  on  the  whole  rather  anticipatory  and  pleased. 
Leaving  the  station,  he  took  the  wood  path  which  he  knew 
perfectly  from  other  days  not  so  long  ago,  down  there 
with  John.  But  you  would  not,  if  you  had  followed  him, 
have  recognised  Bailey  when  he  emerged  from  the  path  and 
crossed  the  orchard  to  the  house.  You  would  have  seen  a 

272 


THE    BLACK    DROP  273 

slim  man  in  a  cloak  with  a  queer  hat  and  spectacles  and  a 
pointed  beard.  And  the  reason  he  stopped  in  the  woods 
and  donned  the  disguise  he  had  brought  along  in  his  bag, 
was  that  he  simply  couldn't  resist  one  more  move  in  the 
foolish  game  he  had  invented  for  the  bewilderment  of 
Charles. 

Suppose  he  came  on  somebody  at  the  house,  conspirator 
or  caretaker;  that  person  would  meet  the  amazing  total  of 
him  in  his  strange  habiliments,  which  would  be  of  no  remote 
consequence,  except  as  it  might  be  reported  afterward.  He 
and  his  fellows  had  got  to  speed  up  on  Charles,  who  was  to 
be  followed  and  confronted  and  haunted  until  his  nerve  was 
broken  or  he  got  irresponsibly  "  mad  ":  foolish,  but  hav 
ing  for  the  gang  the  merit  of  being  the  best  they  could  de 
vise.  They  had  the  agreeable  certainty  that  there  were 
unmentionable  events  crowding  the  background  of 
Charles's  life,  and  that,  in  consequence,  he  couldn't  bear 
watching.  Also,  if  he  were  watched  persistently,  you 
would  inevitably  find  out  things  valuable  enough  to  be 
traded  for  other  things  of  value.  Bailey  had  stopped  at  the 
little  bridge  and  thrust  under  his  bag.  He  would  come 
back  for  it  after  he  had  done  his  errand  at  the  house, 
and  he  thought  what  a  shame  it  was  he  had  nothing  in 
sulting  to  leave  there  for  good,  in  case  it  occurred  to 
Charles  also  that  it  had  been  the  old  hidey-hole.  He 
crossed  the  orchard,  passed  the  garage,  which  was  dark, 
and  approached  the  house,  where  he  noted  a  light  at  the 
back  and  also  from  an  upper  window.  The  front  hall 
also  showed  light  in  its  traceried  fan  over  the  door;  and 
he  went  up  the  steps,  opened  the  door  with  John's  key  and 
stepped  in.  The  house  was  entirely  still.  Neither  of 
the  front  rooms  was  lighted,  and  he  stood  a  moment  grin 
ning  at  his  own  fantastic  figure  in  the  great  mirror  at 


274  THE   BLACK   DROP 

the  left.  He  went  upstairs,  opened  the  door  of  John's 
room,  found  it  dark  and  closed  the  door  again.  There 
he  halted  a  moment,  hearing  a  step  in  the  front  room  at 
the  right  of  the  hall,  and  suddenly  he  started,  with  a  gen 
uine  shiver,  for  a  tenor  voice  broke  into  a  snatch  of  song. 
The  house  was  so  still  that  he  found  himself  immediately 
credulous  of  everything  sinister  and  strange.  Even  the 
song  sounded  to  him  baleful  in  its  sweetness  and  he  had  to 
stand  there  and  conquer  his  distrust  of  the  spot  he  had 
perhaps  foolishly  penetrated.  In  an  instant  more  he 
remembered  this  was  to  be  gay  adventure  and  tiptoed 
along  the  corridor,  grimacing  dramatically,  tapped  at 
the  door  and  threw  it  open.  A  man  stood  facing  him, 
hands  in  his  pockets,  evidently  having  just  risen  from  the 
table  where  his  book  still  lay;  his  pipe,  tobacco  jar  and 
glass  with  bottle  and  siphon,  bore  testimony  to  a  leisure 
hour.  The  man,  Bailey  saw  through  his  spectacles,  had 
red,  disordered  hair,  a  red  beard  and  a  twisted  mouth.  He 
had  also  enormous  ears,  apparent  even  through  the  thatch 
of  hair.  In  the  instant  of  the  door's  opening,  he  made  a 
spring  to  one  side,  every  line  in  his  face  intensifying,  in  a 
queer  way,  so  that  he  seemed  all  wry  apprehension ;  im 
mediately  he  controlled  himself  and  stood  fixed.  But  his 
hands,  out  of  his  pockets  now,  were  clenched  and  quivering. 
Bailey  burst  into  a  laugh,  and  the  situation  tickled  him 
so  that  the  laugh  rang  true. 

"  Don't  shoot,"  said  he.  "  I've  come  from  Tracy.  He 
sent  me  down  here  —  '  at  a  venture  adding  recklessly, 
"  to  get  the  bag." 

The  man  still  trembled.  It  was  not  alone  his  hands : 
the  tremor  had  crept  over  him,  and  he  was  silent  for  a 
moment,  getting  himself  under,  his  racing  blood,  his  quiv 
ering  nerves.  Then  he  asked  a  perfunctory  question: 


THE    BLACK   DROP  275 

"  What  bag?  " 

"  Oh,  come,"  said  Bailey.  "  You  know.  The  lost  bag. 
Take  me?  " 

"  No,"  said  the  man. 

Yet  he  was  quieting.  Only  it  was  evident  that,  from  cau 
tion,  he  had  decided  to  be  dumb. 

"  You  don't  believe  he  sent  me,"  said  Bailey.  "  See 
here,  I'll  prove  it  to  you.  You  know  Tracy's  number?  " 

He  made  no  answer,  yet  it  was  evident  he  did. 

"  I'll  call  him  up." 

Bailey  went  to  the  telephone  on  a  table  in  the  corner, 
asked  for  toll  operator  and  gave  his  long  distance  call, 
"to  talk  to  Mr.  Tracy."  In  the  interval  of  waiting,  he 
kept  up  a  rain  of  confirmatory  remarks  to  his  vis-a-vis, 
who  had,  it  appeared,  got  back  his  nerve  and  was  facing 
him  steadily. 

"  I  tell  you,"  said  Bailey,  "  this  is  uncommon  discour 
aging  for  Tracy.  He  sends  me  down  here  to  get  the  bag 
—  with  instructions  for  you,  too  —  and  you  won't  even  tell 
me  whether  you're  the  Johnnie  I'm  after.  Hullo."  The 
bell  had  rung.  "Mr.  Tracy?  Mr.  Charles  Tracy? 
Well,  I'm  here.  According  to  instructions.  Yes. 
Found  him  all  right.  What  am  I  —  Repeat  that,  please. 
What  am  I  wearing?  Why,  same  old  togs.  My  cape, 
my  spectacles,  my  altogether  eccentric  and  admirable  hat. 
Same  as  I  wore  in  the  picture  on  your  desk.  See?  Oh, 
no !  Tut !  tut !  May  I  not  suggest  that  profanity  is 
forbidden?  You'll  be  cut  off.  Now  your  man  here  won't 
accept  my  credentials.  Won't  recognize  me.  What? 
you'll  be  down  yourself?  By  motor?  Straight  off? 
Right  away?  ('  right  away  '  —  admirable  American  lan 
guage,"  lie  commented,  turning  to  the  man  behind  him,) 
and  then  speaking  again  into  the  transmitter,  while 


276  THE    BLACK    DROP 

Charles  not  having  uttered  a  word,  since  the  first  "  Hullo  " 
and  a  solitary  imprecation,  was  listening,  Bailey  gleefully 
thought,  so  hard  you  could  hear  his  ear  drums  beating 
their  own  tattoo.  "  You're  coming  down,  you  say?  by 
car?  " 

Then,  irrepressibly,  it  seemed,  the  man  behind  him  spoke, 
the  words  leaping  out  as  if  they  had  been  in  leash  there, 
waiting  for  their  chance: 

"  Am  I  to  be  ready  ?     He  comes  himself  to  take  me  ?  " 

Bailey  hung  up  the  receiver  and  turned  to  regard  him, 
from  a  new  enlightenment.  It  had  simply  seemed  to  him 
that  Charles,  being  told  his  tormentor  was  down  here, 
would  undoubtedly  take  the  wings  of  gasoline  and  fly  down 
to  probe  this  last  impudence  to  its  depths.  But  appar 
ently  he  had  unwittingly  caught  another  bird  in  the  snare 
set  for  his  own  pastime.  So  his  queer  acquaintance  was  ex 
pected  to  be  ready ;  he  trusted  Bailey  at  last,  or  he 
wouldn't  have  said  it.  But  a  change  came  over  the  in 
tense,  wry  face.  The  man  drew  back.  He  had  repented 
his  half  betrayal,  and  he  spoke  now  with  violence : 

"  You  do  not  suppose  I  have  not  seen  that  you  wear  a 
disguise?  Your  hair  is  a  wig,  your  beard—  He 

spread  his  hands  to  indicate  the  absurdity  of  its  palpable 
falseness,  its  utter  futility  as  a  self-respecting  beard.  "  And 
your  spectacles  —  would  you  have  me  believe  those  are 
lenses?  No,  they  also  are  a  disguise." 

"  My  dear  boy,"  said  Bailey,  without  an  instant's  hesi 
tation,  "  you  are  perfectly  right.  It  is  a  disguise,  except 
for  the  specs  —  those  lenses  are  dead  honest  and  a  pretty 
penny  they  cost  me  —  and  the  disguise  is  for  you." 

"  For  me?  I  will  not  have  it.  It  is  absurd.  I  have 
let  my  beard  grow,  I  have  let  my  hair.  But  this !  this !  " 
He  paused,  unable  to  express  his  utter  contempt.  "  Why, 


THE   BLACK   DROP  277 

you  are  what  you  call  a  laughing  stock.  You  would  bring 
attention  to  yourself  in  any  place." 

"Right  you  are,"  said  Bailey.  "It  is  a  rotten  make 
up.  I  wondered  what  made  Tracy  so  stuck  on  it." 

"  But  he  could  not  be  stuck.  He  is  an  able  man,  Mr. 
Tracy,  and  he  has  planned  things  extraordinarily  well, 
because  so  simply,  do  you  see?  " 

Again  he  spread  his  hands  to  indicate  his  disdain  of  a 
masquerade  so  meretricious. 

"  Well,"  said  Bailey  carelessly,  "  maybe  you're  right. 
Anyhow,  that's  what  he  said.  Now  if  he's  coming  down 
here,  he's  well  on  his  way  and  you'd  better  get  your  duds 
together." 

"  I  am  ready,"  said  the  other.  He  took  his  pipe  from 
the  table  and  put  it  in  his  pocket.  "  I  have  but  to  find  my 
coat  and  hat." 

"All  right,"  said  Bailey. 

He  rose  from  the  chair  by  the  telephone  and  made  his  way 
to  the  door.  This  was  after  a  lingering  look  at  the  tray 
on  the  table;  but  there  was  one  glass  only  and  he  was 
afraid,  if  he  forced  the  issue  of  hospitality,  the  other 
might  ring  for  a  second,  and  who  would  bring  it?  Per 
haps  a  stalwart  flunkey  who  might  not  be  so  credulous. 

"Where  are  you  going?" 

"I  thought  I'd  just  stroll  down  the  drive,"  said  Bailey, 
"  through  the  shrubbery.  See?  In  case  anybody's 
hanging  round.  But  I'll  be  back  here  when  Tracy  comes. 
You  be  ready  down  in  the  hall.  Just  inside  the  door." 

"  Just  inside,"  said  the  other  grimly.  "  I  do  not  step 
outside  that  door  until  I  hear  Mr.  Tracy's  voice.  And  I 
shall  be  armed,  you  understand." 

"  The  deuce  you  will,"  Bailey  thought,  with  a  whimsi 
cal  recognition  of  his  own  luck.  "  If  you  were  armed 


278  THE   BLACK   DROP 

while  you  sat  here  drinking  your  grog  and  singing  about 
German  mill  wheels,  little  Ned  Bailey  might  have  a  hole 
through  him  or  at  least  been  held  up  till  Tracy  came." 
But  he  was  now  at  the  door  and  turned  back  for  a  word. 
"  Don't  disturb  anybody  else." 

"Anybody  else?" 

Did  the  fellow  still  regard  him  with  suspicion,  or  did  he 
not?  was  it  the  ordinary  expression  of  the  wry  face? 

Bailey  made  a  vague  gesture  toward  the  back  of  the 
house. 

"  Servants'  hall,"  he  said.  "  You  know.  Don't  call 
anybody.  Just  be  ready  and  we'll  slide  the  gang  plank 
on." 

Then  he  went,  running  down  the  stairs,  not  too  hastily, 
he  hoped,  and  out  at  the  front  door,  pausing  a  moment  on 
the  steps  and  looking  down  into  the  dark  shrubbery. 
Bailey  had  had  few  adventures  which  were  of  the  body  and 
not  the  nimble  mind.  He  hardly  knew,  from  the  feeling  of 
them,  how  mad  enterprises  of  the  body  were  to  be  con 
ducted.  He  cherished  an  idea  that  if  one  were  up  to  them 
there  would  be  nothing  quite  so  glorious  in  the  world ; 
but  he  had  unhappily  no  asset  for  the  glad  rough  and 
tumble  of  virile  youth,  nothing  but  length  and  lightness  of 
leg.  The  shrubbery,  with  its  dark  softnesses  of  shadow, 
did  look  sinister.  With  a  queer  German  duck  in  hiding 
there  inside,  who  knew  what  flocks  of  equally  suspicious 
ducks  might  be  flying  up  the  drive  to  the  same  sanctuary? 
What  fun  it  all  was !  He  ran  down  the  steps  and  made 
long  strides  along  the  drive.  At  the  turning,  just  when 
the  gate  was  wide  before  him,  with  the  crackle  of  no  more 
than  one  step  on  the  gravel  something  big  was  upon  him, 
something  strong,  like  a  band  of  iron,  enveloped  him,  a 
body  so  unyielding  that  it  semed  as  gigantic  as  the  night 


THE   BLACK   DROP  279 

was  against  his  body  and  a  hand  was  over  his  mouth. 
And  Bailey  could  only  think  that,  after  all,  his  mouth  must 
be  the  most  sensitive  feature  of  his  loquacious  person,  for 
he  was  conscious  of  a  rueful  wish  that  the  creature 
would  take  off  that  beastly  paw  and,  since  there  was  no 
use  in  struggling,  let  him  swear.  However,  there  wasn't 
time  for  mental  pleasantries ;  they  were  plunging  along 
the  drive,  through  the  gateway  and  down  the  road,  and 
now  they  stopped  and  Bailey  blinked,  for  this  was  a  car, 
and  at  their  coming  the  lights  flashed  on.  "  Here  we  go  !  " 
he  thought.  "  Hurrah !  "  Another  man  was  standing  be 
side  the  car;  a  third  was  at  the  wheel.  Not  a  word  was 
spoken  until,  as  the  one  who  had  Bailey  and  the  other 
who  seemed  ready  to  receive  him  were  about  to  bundle 
him  into  the  car,  the  third  demanded : 

"  What  the  devil's  he  got  on?  " 

"  Disguised,"  said  the  first.     "  That's  how  I  knew." 

"  Disguised  nothin'.     He's  come  out  o'  the  movies." 

They  flashed  a  light  on  him,  and  he  stood  there,  a  man 
on  each  side  of  him,  and  free  now,  for  since  there  were  two 
of  them  they  doubtless  knew,  if  he  tried  to  escape,  he 
wouldn't  have  a  chance.  He  felt  the  shame  of  that.  He 
was  so  crumpled  they  despised  him. 

"  Peel  him,"  said  the  man  who  had  waited  for  them, 
"  and  let's  have  a  look  at  him.  I  don't  want  to  elope  with 
the  wrong  girl." 

With  what  seemed  one  motion  the  others  did  peel  him, 
hat,  wig,  whiskers,  spectacles,  and  then  they  flashed  the 
light  on  him  again,  and  his  captor  was  the  one  to  speak. 
And  such  amazement  was  in  his  voice  that  it  amounted  to 
awe,  —  -  awe  and  a  something  Bailey  put  down  in  his  de 
lighted  mind  as  respectful  horror. 

"  Mr.  Bailey !  "  said  he,  and  that  was  all. 


280  THE    BLACK   DROP 

And  now  Bailey,  who  had  been  smiling  at  them  sunnily, 
found  his  tongue.  The  respect  and  horror  had  put  him 
back  into  that  lightsome  ease  of  mind  where  he  ordi 
narily  sojourned. 

"  Mr.  Bailey,  as  you  say,"  he  returned,  with  his  own 
jaunty  self-sufficiency.  "  And  may  I  not,  sir,  request  a 
look  at  your  visiting  card?  May  I  not  also  be  permitted 
here  in  the  dread  vast  and  middle  of  the  night  on  this 
lonesome  road  beset  with  dread  to  share  with  you  the 
chestnut  that  although  your  face  is  unknown  to  me  your 
manner  is  familiar?  " 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Bailey,  you  know  my  face,"  said  the  other, 
from  what  sounded  like  extreme  depression.  "  Not  so 
well  as  I  know  yours,  but  I  expect  you  know  it." 

He  handed  Bailey  the  flash-light  and  took  off  his  hat. 
Bailey  directed  the  light  to  him  and  had  his  turn  of  sur 
prise  and  disbelief. 

"  Cross !  by  all  that's  holy." 

Cross  stood  there,  an  authoritative  figure,  yet  trans 
formed  from  what  must  have  been  his  assertive  bearing 
of  the  moment  before  to  the  completest  deference.  Bailey 
took  delight  in  the  reflection  that,  in  the  exact  fashion 
of  helping  a  guest  on  with  his  overcoat,  Cross  would 
now,  in  a  minute,  offer  to  help  him  on  with  his  whiskers 
and  wig.  The  other  man,  who  had  looked  on  in  silence, 
spoke  now  disgustedly. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "you  have  made  a  mess  of  it,  ain't 

you?" 

He  stepped  into  the  car  and  sat  down  as  if  personally 
he  abandoned  all  responsibility  and  interest.  Bailey  was 
quite  himself.  He  raised  a  gleeful  finger. 

"  Tut !  tut !  "  said  he.  "  Naughty,  naughty !  Lying  in 
shrubberies,  coiled  to  spring,  falling  on  innocent  masquer- 


THE   BLACK   DROP  281 

aders  and  sand-bagging  them  and  placing  large,  service 
able  hands,  better  made  to  pass  decanters  and  squirt  the 
cooling  siphon,  over  mouths  made  to  carol  as  gleefully  as 
the  innocent  birds  of  dawn.  That's  free  verse,  Cross,  only 
you  can't  tell  till  you  see  it  printed.  Cross,  I  am  griev 
ing  over  you.  I  weep  for  you,  the  walrus  said." 

Cross  had  recovered  himself.  He  had  quelled  the  in 
cipient  butler  in  him  and  stood  erect,  man  to  newspaper 
man. 

"That's  all  right,  Mr.  Bailey,"  said  he.  "But  I'd 
like  to  know  what  you're  down  here  for  anyway.  And  in 
that  rig." 

Bailey  had  a  mild  desire  to  try  him,  to  see  if  he  could 
summon  back  the  butler  again,  by  insidious  appeal. 

"  Help  me  on  with  my  rig,  Cross,"  said  he.  "  My  wig, 
I  should  say.  I  don't  believe  we  can  manage  the  whiskers, 
do  you?  No?  I'll  tuck  'em  in  my  pocket.  Now  my 
spectacles.  I  was  accused  to-night  of  having  plain  glass 
in  'em,  but  that's  a  libel.  Thank  you." 

Cross  had  mechanically  and  deftly  aided  him  in  redec 
orating  himself,  and  now  the  other  spoke  with  some  impa 
tience  from  the  car : 

"  Come,  come !  we  can't  stay  here  all  night,  gassin'." 

"  Indeed  you  can't,"  said  Bailey,  suddenly  alert  to 
the  chances  of  the  hour.  "  Tracy's  on  his  way  down 
here." 

"  In  a  car?  " 

Cross  was  alert  enough  now.  The  butler  had  popped 
inside  the  sentry  box. 

"Yes." 

"  What  for?  " 

"  Oh,  I  can't  tell  you,"  said  Bailey.  "  It's  too  long. 
Only  there's  a  queer  Johnnie  inside  the  house  there  —  " 


282  THE    BLACK    DROP 

"  You  been  in?  " 

"  Yes." 

"What  for?" 

"  Tracy  —  John  —  gave  me  his  key  and  sent  me  down 
to  do  an  errand.  And  I  found  this  Johnnie  inside  there 
alone  — 

"Red  whiskers?"  said  Cross.  "Twisted  mouth?  big 
ears  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Know  who  he  is?  " 

"  No.  Except  he's  a  Teuton  and  got  an  excellent  tenor 
voice." 

"  He's  a  big  chemist  and  he's  been  making  cultures  for 
a  veterinary  disease  they're  going  to  spring  on  us,  and  his 
name's  Adler.  And  we're  hanging  round  here  to  kidnap 
him  and  turn  him  over." 

"  Don't  tell  me,  Cross,"  said  Bailey,  in  almost  unbeliev 
able  delight,  "  that  you're  a  secret  service  man." 

"  No,  I'm  not,"  said  Cross  curtly.  "  I'm  an  English 
man  and  I'm  too  old  to  join.  I'm  doing  a  job  here  and 
there  when  I  can ;  but  I  know  more  about  Charles  Tracy 
than  anybody  does  —  but  his  Maker.  Queer  things  have 
been  going  on  down  here,  Mr.  Bailey.  The  family  don't 
know  it,  I  expect,  except  Mr.  John.  And  he  don't  know 
all." 

"  These  gentlemen,"  said  Bailey,  still  in  his  ecstasy, 
"  these  gentlemen  in  the  car  arc  government  officials, 
minions  of  the  law,  their  pockets  full  of  warrants,  and  they 
are  here  to  arrest  our  friend  inside?  " 

"  They're  friends  of  mine,  so  to  speak,"  said  Cross. 
"  We're  doing  it  something  the  same  way.  We  get  the 
man  and  turn  him  over  to  the  government,  that's  all." 

"  But  why  not  turn  your  information  over  first,"  said 


283 

Bailey,  "  and  let  the  government  get  him?  Much  simpler, 
Cross.  Unless  you  want  the  fun  of  it.  I  quite  understand 
that." 

Cross  lowered  his  voice. 

"  I  was  coming  to  that,"  he  said.  "  Because  I  don't 
want  Charles  Tracy  taken  —  not  yet." 

"Why  not?     Need  more  evidence?  " 

"  No,"  said  Cross,  "  but  there's  madam." 

"  But  madam  isn't  living  with  him." 

"  I'm  not  going  into  that,  sir.  Nor  whether  madam  will 
stay  away  now  she's  got  away  or  whether  she  won't. 
But  a  friend  of  mine  in  the  service  tells  me  Miss  Jessie 
has  applied  for  passports  for  herself  and  madam.  And 
when  madam  has  gone,  then  I  turn  Mr.  Tracy  over." 

"  But  Lord,  Cross !  if  you  want  that  fellow  in  there," 
said  Bailey,  suddenly  alert  to  his  own  joyous  share  in 
the  quest,  "  I  can  hand  him  to  you.  I  made  up  a  yarn 
about  Tracy's  coming  down  to  get  him,  and  he's  there  in 
the  hall  waiting,  like  a  ripe  apple,  and  you  can  pick  him 
off  the  hat  tree." 

"  I  can't  get  into  the  hall,"  said  Cross,  in  a  suddenly 
stimulated  interest.  "  Can  you  get  him  out?  " 

"  No.  He  half  thinks  I'm  what  I  told  him,  but  he 
won't  quite  eat  out  of  my  hand.  I  can  let  you  in  all  right. 
Lord,  if  I  hadn't  forgot  I've  got  a  key.  Come  on  in  with 
the  car.  That's  what  he's  waiting  for." 

Cross  did  not  answer ;  the  other  man  opened  the  door 
of  the  car  and  signed  Bailey  to  enter.  He  did  and  the 
car  started,  Cross  on  the  running  board,  and  they  were 
driven  noiselessly  up  the  drive  and  stopped  at  the  front 
door.  There  Cross  stepped  off,  went  up  the  steps  and 
placed  himself  in  shadow  in  the  corner  of  the  porch. 
The  other  followed  him  and  they  stood  together.  Upon 


284  THE   BLACK   DROP 

this  Bailey  fitted  the  key  in  the  door  and  stepped 
in,  whistling  softly,  prepared  with  an  ingenuous  facial 
vacuity  to  meet  his  man.  But  the  hall  was  empty,  and 
he  did  feel  momentarily  dashed  and  not  so  clever  as  he 
had  the  instant  before :  not  nearly  so  clever  nor  important 
either.  But  almost  at  once  a  voice  came  from  the  head 
of  the  stairs. 

"  I  am  here.  I  am  armed.  And  I  shall  not  come  down 
until  I  know  that  is  Mr.  Tracy's  car." 

"  Of  course  it's  Tracy's  car,"  said  Bailey  cheerfully. 
"Don't  be  an  ass.  But  before  you  do  come  down,  go 
back  into-  that  room  and  turn  off  the  light." 

**  There  is  no  occasion  for  turning  off  the  light,"  said 
Adler,  and  Bailey  was  encouraged  to  suspect  his  teeth 
were  chattering.  Chemistry  and  the  evolving  of  deadly 
bacilli  were  not,  perhaps,  conducive  to  personal  courage, 
even  if  one  were,  as  Adler  had  announced,  armed. 

"  Then  I  will,"  said  he,  running  up  the  stairs.  "  Oh, 
put  down  your  gun.  If  you  make  a  hole  in  me  you'll  have 
to  settle  with  Tracy  for  messing  up  his  stairs." 

He  reached  the  man,  elbowed  past  him,  scarcely  looking 
at  him,  and  turned,  as  if  to  the  room  at  the  right.  But 
judging  that  the  fellow,  in  his  surprise,  might  not  continue 
to  cover  him,  he  whirled,  sprang  back,  struck  up  Adler's 
hand  and  held  it,  and  they  clinched,  Bailey  unscientifically, 
without  a  notion  how  you  took  your  adversary  yet  hang 
ing  on  like  death  and  giving  one  strident  yell  for  Cross. 
And  Cross  came,  he  and  the  other  man,  three  stairs  at  a 
bound,  and  between  them  Adler  was  dragged  struggling 
down  the  stairs.  Bailey  plunged  after  them,  conscious  of 
a  confused  scuffle  at  the  foot,  wherein  a  woman,  stalwart 
beyond  belief,  appeared  from  nowhere  and  took  part, 
and  that  she  cried  aloud  for  Fritz,  who  never  came  at 


THE   BLACK   DROP  285 

all,  and  that  he  himself  had  to  push  her  back  into  the 
hall  by  main  strength  after  the  others  had  gone  out  and 
that  he  held  the  door  against  her.  The  two  packed 
Adler  into  the  car  and  Cross  called  back  to  Bailey : 

"  Coming,  sir?  " 

"  No,"  said  Bailey.  "  Hold  on.  Give  me  your  town 
address." 

Cross  threw  it  at  him  in  two  words,  street  and  number, 
and  the  car  started.  That  instant  Bailey  relinquished 
his  hold  on  the  door  and  ran  like  a  cat  round  the  side  of 
the  house,  past  the  garage  and  into  the  orchard.  And 
now  lie  knew  he  was  at  last  afraid ;  but  it  was  of  the  woman 
who  was  outside  now  and  yelling  like  a  banshee  for  Fritz. 
Though  he  had  taken  the  wood  path  so  many  times,  it 
was  not  familiar  to  his  foot  in  the  dark,  but  he  turned  on 
his  flash-light  and  ran  by  fits  and  starts,  stopping  to 
verify  his  way  and  dashing  on  again.  Thus  he  came  to  the 
little  bridge,  took  out  his  bag,  thrust  into  it  his  hat, 
wig,  whiskers  and  cape,  put  on  the  soft  cap  he  had  in  his 
pocket  and  went  on  to  the  station.  He  was  in  doubt  of 
what  he  should  find  there.  Would  it  be  Charles  arrived 
from  town  and,  having  heard  the  tale  of  abduction,  hot 
on  his  trail,  would  it  be  the  woman  shrieking  for  Fritz, 
or  would  it  be  Fritz  himself?  But  the  station,  wrapped 
in  darkness  except  for  its  one  light,  was  shrouded  in 
silence,  too,  and  Bailey  hung  about  outside  until  his  train 
came  in  and  then,  the  only  one  to  take  it,  got  on  and  sat 
down  to  think  things  over.  Seriously  now:  there  was  no 
laughter  left  in  it.  For  Charles  Tracy  was  guilty  of 
harboring  an  alien  enemy  the  law  was  hunting,  and  John, 
though  he  was  his  brother,  must  be  told.  Bailey  couldn't 
stay  down  here  as  he  had  meant  to,  to  search  the  woods  by 
daylight  for  hypothetical  bags.  John  must  be  told  at 
once. 


XXVIII 

BAILEY  did  not  fly  to  John  with  his  batch  of  news. 
He  went  instead,  in  the  early  morning,  to  Cross,  found  him 
in  a  lodging  in  a  West  End  street,  what  Bailey  called 
"  grummy,"  but  rigidly  self-respecting,  and  Cross  himself 
in  bed.  .He  was  full  of  shocked  apology  at  being  found 
in  that  relaxation,  but  Bailey  took  a  chair  and  told  him 
to  hush  up,  since  men  must  sleep,  all  save  heroes  like 
himself.  He'd  lain  awake  all  the  night  he  found  left  to 
him,  thinking  out  the  miserable  business  at  Grasslands. 

"  And,  Cross,"  he  said,  "  you've  got  to  hand  in  your 
evidence.     That's  flat." 
Cross  looked  obstinate. 

"  I  met  you  fair  and  square,  Mr.  Bailey,"  said  he, 
"  man  to  man.  I  told  you  what  I  was  doing,  and  I  trusted 
you  to  keep  mum.  I  don't  recall  whether  everything  I 
said  to  you  was  confidential,  but  I  took  it  for  granted 
you'd  use  your  judgment  and  act  fair.  If  you  force  my 
hand,  you  ain't  acting  fair.  No,  you  ain't." 

Cross,  at  this  time,  was  a  curious  compound  of  the 
deferent  and  the  masterful.  But  it  wasn't  necessary  to 
be  deferent  with  Bailey,  who  had  little  regard  for  the  class 
obliquities  of  life,  and  who  could,  without  feigning,  meet 
him  man  to  man. 

"  Now  see  here,"  said  he,  "  your  perspective's  all  wrong. 
Charles  Tracy's  a  criminal.  And  you've  got  him.  It's 
up  to  you  to  do  something.  It  isn't  as  if  he'd  seen  the 
error  of  his  ways,  cried  on  your  bosom  and  sworn  he'd 

286 


THE   BLACK   DROP  287 

stop  harboring  germ  fiends  and  sworn  to  me  he'd  cut 
out  propaganda  in  his  paper.  He's  going  right  on,  and 
you're  the  man  to  trip  him  up.  And  you  won't  do  it." 

Cross  answered  from  his  heart,  but  with  a  lamentable 
lack  of  logic : 

"  I  want  madam  to  go  to  France." 

"  Madam's  nothing  to  do  with  it,"  said  Bailey. 
"  Here's  Charles  Tracy,  and  Charles  Tracy's  a  traitor. 
What  are  you  going  to  do  about  it?  " 

Cross  thought,  a  long  five  minutes.  He  was  sitting 
up  in  bed,  as  more  respectful,  and  a  sun  ray  struck  upon 
his  unshaven  cheek  and  disordered  hair  and  gave  Bailey 
a  momentary  gleeful  thought  that,  if  he'd  seen  a  butler 
in  undress  before,  he  should  never  have  contemplated 
with  anguish  the  possibility  of  using  the  wrong  fork.  At 
length  Cross  turned  upon  him  a  distraught  and  saddened 
face. 

"I'll  tell  you  what,  Mr.  Bailey,"  he  said,  "I'll  go 
round  and  see  Mr.  Tracy  —  Mr.  Charles's  father,  I  mean 
• —  and  tell  him  the  whole  business." 

"  What  good's  that  going  to  do  ?  "  inquired  Bailey 
inexorably.  "  You'll  only  get  the  family  by  the  ears,  and 
ten  chances  to  one  some  of  'em'll  make  a  passionate  appeal 
to  the  erring  son  and  Master  Charlcs'll  say  it's  all  poppy 
cock  and  kick  up  his  heels  and  off  he'll  go,  and  you've 
lost  him." 

But  Cross  was  meeting  his  gaze,  eye  to  eye.  And  he 
spoke  with  an  immovable  obstinacy. 

"  I  can  ask  Mr.  Tracy  to  see  to  madam's  going  abroad." 

Bailey  pleaded  with  him,  reasoned,  swore  at  him,  and 
then  got  up  and  clapped  him  on  his  pyjamaed  back  and 
told  him  he  was  a  great  old  sport. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  if  you're  going  to  see  Mr.  Tracy, 


288  THE    BLACK   DROP 

when  will  you  go?  I  ought  to  be  handing  in  a  report  to 
John,  you  understand,  and  I  can't  do  it  till  I  know  what 
you've  done." 

"  To-night,"  Cross  told  him.     He  would  go  that  night. 

So  Bailey  left  him. 

That  night  Cross,  having  assured  himself  that  Charles 
had  gone  to  Mrs.  Davenport's,  went  round  to  the  West 
End  house  and  asked  to  see  Mr.  Tracy.  He  did  not  send 
up  his  name.  It  was  a  message,  he  told  the  maid  at  the 
door,  most  important.  Norris  was  in  his  study,  the 
evening  paper  before  him,  staring  in  a  daze  at  the  printed 
words,  and  thinking  about  Charles.  And  when  Cross 
appeared  and  stopped  just  inside  the  doorway,  he  looked 
at  him  for  a  puzzled  moment,  debating  where  he  had  seen 
him  before.  There  was  in  Cross  an  inexplicable  difference 
from  the  Cross  Norris  Tracy  had  known.  It  could  not 
be  said  that  his  old  humility  had  gone,  but  he  was  still  re 
garding  the  individual  as  man  to  man. 

"Ah,"  said  Norris,  "Cross.     A  message,  you  said?" 

He  couldn't  remember  what  Charles  had  told  him  about 
dismissing  Cross,  whether  he  had  said  anything  definite. 
There  must  have  been  dissatisfaction  somewhere.  So  he 
looked  at  him  and  waited. 

"  May  I  shut  the  door,  Mr.  Tracy  ?  "  asked  Cross, 
with  deference  and  yet  an  implication  that  he  was  going 
to  shut  it  anyway. 

Tracy  nodded,  and  when  it  had  been  done  and  they 
were  again  facing  each  other,  now  in  a  privacy  implying 
something  of  importance,  he  asked : 

"Well,  what  is  it?" 

"  I  should  like  to  mention,"  said  Cross,  "  in  the  begin 
ning,  that  my  errand  is  confidential." 

Norris  said  nothing  and  again  waited. 


THE    BLACK    DROP  289 

"  The  amount  of  it  is,"  went  on  Cross,  with  no  embar 
rassment  but  a  perfection  of  concise  matter  of  fact  state 
ment  it  would  have  been  hard  to  challenge,  "  Mr.  Charles, 
sir,  is  being  watched." 

Norris  gave  the  slightest  perceptible  start;  it  was  a 
movement  of  the  foot  only,  but  in  reality  it  seemed  to  him 
his  heart  leaped  out  of  its  place,  and  that  he  must  gasp 
before  he  got  his  breath  normally  again.  Cross  appeared 
to  understand  he  wasn't  to  be  helped  out,  and  went  on, 
as  if  he  had  an  everyday  matter  to  state,  yet  impressively, 
too : 

"  Mr.  Charles  is  doing  German  propaganda  work.  He 
has  harbored  an  alien  wanted  by  the  government,  one  of 
a  gang  conspiring  against  the  allies  —  and  the  States,  too, 
Mr.  Tracy,  I  give  you  my  word." 

Norris  got  up  from  his  chair,  pushing  it  violently  to 
one  side,  and  walked  to  the  window,  and  there  he  stood,  his 
back  to  Cross,  staring  out  at  the  lights  in  the  house 
opposite  and  conscious  of  the  iron  band  about  his  forehead 
and  the  thickness  of  his  breath.  A  girl  came  to  the 
window  opposite  and  presently  another  girl  joined  her  and 
put  an  arm  about  her  and  they  waltzed  back  into  the  room 
to  the  pounding  of  a  piano.  The  little  picture  etched  itself 
on  his  memory,  so  that  whenever  afterward  he  thought 
of  his  son's  downfall,  he  saw  two  girls  waltzing  and  heard 
a  trumpery  tune.  Then,  at  last,  because  he  had  to  meet 
the  blow  in  exactly  the  way  it  was  dealt  him  and  no  other, 
he  turned  back  into  the  room,  walked  to  the  table  and 
stood  there,  one  hand  finding  the  support  of  the  pile  of 
books  at  the  end,  and  faced  round  upon  Cross  who  had  not 
stirred  from  the  spot  he  had  occupied  when  he  first 
came  in. 

"  You  want,"  said  Norris,  "  to  have  him  warned." 


290  THE    BLACK   DROP 

"  No,  sir,"  said  Cross  imperturbably.  "  I  want  you  to 
tell  madam  that  it  is  time  for  her  to  go  abroad.  I  want 
you  to  see  she  goes." 

There  was  such  authority  in  his  voice,  such  certainty 
of  having  weighed  the  situation  and  hit  upon  a  conclusion 
quite  aside  from  any  suggestion  of  controlling  it,  that 
Norris  made  the  only  reply  commensurately  indicated: 

"  Sit  down." 

Cross  sat  and  Norris  took  his  own  chair  and  bade  him 
curtly,  but  with  kindness,  because  it  was  apparent  that 
Cross  didn't  like  his  job: 

"  Go  ahead.  Tell  me  what  you  know  and  where  you 
found  it  out." 

Then  Cross,  not  picturesquely  but  quite  as  if  he  told 
the  story  of  any  errand  he  had  been  sent  to  do,  gave  the 
brief  history  of  Adler,  a  chemist  who  had  been  watched 
for  a  long  time  by  government  experts  and  who,  just  at 
the  moment  when  the  case  was  clear  against  him  and  he 
was  wanted,  could  not  be  found.  Cross  knew  why,  for  this 
same  man  had  been  in  Charles  Tracy's  house  here  in  town 
over  and  over,  while  Cross  was  still  in  service  there ;  he 
had  met  the  gentlemen  who  had  their  secret  meetings  in 
Charles's  billiard  room. 

"  How  do  you  know  there  were  meetings  ?  "  asked  Norris 
abruptly,  hating  these  ways  of  vulgar  espionage  but 
seeing  the  slough  must  be  penetrated  to  the  firmer  land 
beyond,  if  indeed  there  were  any  land  firm  enough,  in  these 
days,  for  him  to  set  his  foot  on. 

"  I  had  been  present,  sir,"  said  Cross,  "  several  times." 

"Present?     how  present?" 

"There  is  a  little  attic  room  there,  sir,  that  Mr.  Charles 
closed  up  as  soon  as  he  began  to  use  the  billiard  room  for 
meetings.  He  took  in  some  of  the  wall  space  when  he 


THE   BLACK   DROP  291 

built  in  his  safe.  It  used  to  be  a  servant's  room.  Every 
time  Mr.  Charles  had  a  meeting  he  gave  me  an  evening  out, 
and  I  would  come  back  again,  after  half  an  hour  or  so, 
and  go  up  to  the  little  room.  It  had  a  dormer.  I  used 
to  get  out  of  that  —  the  roof  sloped  some  three  feet  to 
the  gutter  there  —  and  lie  along  the  slope  with  my  feet 
in  the  gutter  and  my  ear  to  the  window  of  the  billiard 
room." 

Norris  regarded  him,  his  length,  his  sinewy  height,  and 
said: 

"  You  couldn't.  A  man  like  you  can't  lie  along  roofs 
and  gutters." 

"  It  was  a"  bit  awkward  sometimes,"  said  Cross  simply. 
"  It  was  hardly  dangerous.  I'd  had  the  gutters  ree'n- 
forced." 

"  Besides,"  objected  Norris,  as  if,  in  fighting  these 
details,  he  might  make  out  some  sort  of  a  case  for  Charles, 
"  you  couldn't  have  heard  if  you  did." 

"  That  window  was  never  shut  entirely,"  said  Cross. 
"  I  managed  that  every  night  before  they  came." 

"You  had  keys?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  To  that  room  and  the  next?  " 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Tracy." 

"  Where'd  you  get  them  ?  My  son  didn't  give  them  to 
you." 

"  I  have  a  large  acquaintance,"  said  Cross.  "  And 
while  I  was  with  Mr.  Charles,  it  was  easy  for  me  to  admit 
workmen  to  the  house." 

"  Ah !  "  said  Norris,  catching  at  the  implied  admission, 
"  You  have  a  large  acquaintance  among  workmen.  I 
suppose  you're  a  socialist." 

"  No,  Mr.   Tracy,"  said  Cross,  "  I'm  not  a  socialist. 


292  THE    BLACK   DROP 

But  I  am  an  Englishman  —  Lincolnshire,  sir  —  and  when 
ever  I've  seen  there  was  German  work  going  on  over  here 
I've  tried  to  nail  it,  that's  all.  I  began  to  suspect  Mr. 
Charles  first  because  he  had  the  billiard  room  made  over 
and  kept  the  key  of  it  and  forbade  madam  to  go  in  — 

"  He  forbade  her?  " 

"  Yes,  sir.     I  heard  him." 

"  You  must  have  done  a  deal  of  listening." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Cross,  unmoved.  "  I  was  listening  most 
of  the  time —  when  I  could  do  it  without  the  other  servants 
knowing." 

"  And  with  the  end  in  view  of  sometime  giving  up  Mr. 
Charles?" 

"  That's  got  to  come,  Mr.  Tracy,"  said  Cross,  with 
finality.  "  Either  I've  got  to  do  it  or  somebody  else  will. 
They're  not  onto  him  yet,  in  spite  of  his  paper.  It's  too 
clever  for  'em.  But  they  will  be.  He'll  make  a  misstep. 
They  always  do.  And  there's  enough  now  to  hang  him." 

"  Go  on,"  said  Norris.  "  This  Adler.  You  say  he's 
been  taken." 

"  Yes,  sir.     Last  night." 

"Where?" 

"At  Grasslands." 

Now  Norris  was  really  roused.  His  house,  his  own, 
the  dearly  loved,  was  being  used  for  the  workshop  of 
these  evil  forces. 

"  Take  care,"  said  he.  "  I  don't  believe  that,  you 
know." 

"  I've  been  at  Grasslands  quite  a  bit  lately,  sir,"  said 
Cross,  undisturbed.  "  There  are  three  of  us  that  have 
gone  in  together  on  this  thing,  and  we've  put  in  all  our  time 
with  Mr.  Charles." 

"  Why?  "  asked  Norris.     "  Why,  in  God's  name?  " 


THE   BLACK   DROP  293 

"  Because,  Mr.  Tracy,  he  looks  to  us  quite  the  most 
dangerous  agent  about  here." 

Norris  took  that  gallantly.  Cross  wasn't  going  to 
spare  him,  he  saw,  and  neither  did  he  want  to  be  spared. 
This  was,  after  all,  his  job,  not  in  any  degree  that  of  the 
man  before  him. 

"  Are  you  giving  all  your  time  to  it?  "  he  asked, 
regardless  of  his  own  pangs  and  pressing  on  into  the 
brush  of  dark  possibilities. 

"  At  present,  yes,  sir." 

"Who  stakes  you?" 

"  I  do,  sir.  I've  laid  up  quite  a  bit,  and  I  don't  see 
anything  better  I  could  do  with  it  than  turn  it  in. 
Blighty,  they  call  her,  you  know,  sir.  Curious  name,  isn't 
it?" 

The  next  question  Norris  meant  logically  to  ask  him, 
he  knew  he  must,  wherever  the  path  of  honor  led  him,  refuse 
to  utter : 

"  I  suppose  you've  come  to  me  for  money ;  you  expect 
to  be  paid  for  holding  your  tongue?  " 

If  he  had  wanted  to  ask  it,  if  the  money  had  been 
lying  there,  a  pile  of  dirty  metal  to  buy  off  his  son's  name, 
he  could  not  have  asked  the  question.  For  Cross  was 
telling  the  truth.  His  motives  were  as  solid  and  clearly 
outlined  in  this  fog  of  treachery  as  an  ivory  tower  with 
lights. 

"  Go  ahead,"  he  bade  him.  "  You  say  Adler  was  down 
there.  What  then?" 

"  We  took  him,  sir,  that's  all,"  said  Cross.  "  We  have 
some  friends  in  the  service,  and  we  turned  him  over.  He'll 
be  tried  in  due  course." 

"  And  you'll  give  evidence  that  he  was  taken  at  my 
country  house." 


294  THE   BLACK   DROP 

"  No,  sir,  I  don't  think  they'll  go  into  that.  Our  car 
took  him  well  on  towards  the  turnpike  where  another  car 
was  standing  — 

"  By   arrangement?  " 

"  Yes,  sir.  He  was  transferred  from  our  car  to  the 
other,  and  the  evidence  is  that  our  car  then  got  away." 

"  Also  arranged?  " 

"  We  got  away,  sir,"  said  Cross.  "  That's  all.  That's 
all  the  prisoner  himself  will  know.  And  he  won't  mention 
Grasslands  or  Mr.  Charles.  The  fatherland's  too  dear 
to  him.  Mr.  Charles  is  valuable." 

"  Well,"  said  Norris,  "  well?  " 

"Then,"  said  Cross,  hesitating  slightly,  as  if  he 
had  kept  back  his  most  conclusive  facts  and  hated  to 
submit  them,  "  I've  some  papers  here,  Mr.  Tracy,  that 
I'd  like  to  leave  with  you." 

"  More  evidence?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Where'd  you  get  'em?  " 

"  They  were  intended  for  a  submarine  commander  to 
carry  back  to  Germany.  The  commander  was  at  Grass 
lands  to  get  them  and  to  bring  another  batch.  The  other 
batch  we  haven't  got.  We  couldn't  get  it.  But  these 
were  in  a  bag  which  was  evidently  taken  from  the  captain 
before  he  left  your  house.  And  I  was  hanging  round  the 
house  that  night  and  I  got  them  from  the  man  that 
took  it." 

"Who    was  he?" 

"  I  didn't  see  him  clearly,"  said  Cross,  a  perfection  of 
smooth  veracity  in  his  tone.  There  was  to  be  no  mention 
of  John  in  this  or  of  Bailey.  He  didn't  propose  compli 
cating  matters  to  unknown  ends.  "  He  ran  down  through 
your  orchard  and  into  your  woods " 


THE   BLACK   DROP  295 

"  The  wood  path  to  the  station?  " 

"  Yes,  sir.  I  followed  him.  He  stopped  and  put  the 
bag  under  that  little  bridge  by  the  alders." 

"  Good  Lord ! "  said  Norris,  ineptly  as  he  felt,  the 
moment  he  had  said  it,  "  where  the  cardinals  grow !  " 

"  I  waited  till  he'd  gone  on,  and  then  I  took  it  out, 
cut  it  open,  put  the  papers  in  my  pockets  and  hid  the  bag 
again.  That  was  in  a  patch  of  cedars  on  the  way  across 
to  the  western  division.  I  didn't  take  the  train  at  your 
station,  do  you  see,  sir?  I  went  across  country  quite  a  bit. 
And  next  day  I  came  back  by  car  and  got  the  bag.  I 
felt  as  if  I'd  got  to  have  it  all,  as  I  found  it." 

"Where  is  it?" 

"  At  home,  sir,  in  my  lodgings." 

"  And  you  say  you  have  the  papers  for  me?  " 

"  Copies  of  them,  sir.  I  had  copies  taken  at  once,  so 
I  could  put  the  papers  themselves  where  they  wouldn't 
be  come  on  if  anything  happened  to  me." 

"  If  anything  did  happen  to  you,  what  would  become  of 
them?" 

"  I'd  rather  you  didn't  ask  me  that,  sir." 

"  In  other  words,  you  won't  tell." 

But  Cross  was  taking  from  his  pocket  legal  size  envel 
opes  that  Norris  afterward  found  to  hold  typewritten 
sheets  of  thin  paper.  There  was  a  vast  amount  of  material 
in  them. 

"  And  these,"  said  Norris,  "  you  propose  leaving  with 
me?  For  what  purpose?  " 

"  I  want  you  to  see,  sir,"  said  Cross  earnestly,  "  to  see 
for  yourself  just  what  the  evidence  is  against  Mr.  Charles. 
You'll  find  others  are  implicated,  too.  And  when  you  see 
it,  you'll  understand  something  has  got  to  happen.  It 
may  happen  soon.  And  I  want  you  to  send  madam 
abroad." 


296  THE    BLACK   DROP 

Norris  frowned,  not  in  irritation  at  this  meddling  with 
madam,  even  to  her  advantage,  but  with  an  intentness  on 
the  problem.  It  was  still  impossible  to  resent  what  Cross 
had  said.  He  was  simply  a  man  entirely  in  earnest  who 
was  doing  his  job  as  he  must. 

"  You  want  to  save  her,"  he  said,  "  the  disturbance 
of  this  —  the  —  the  disgrace.  Is  that  it?" 

"  Madam  is  —  different,"  said  Cross,  with  an  irrele 
vance  that  seemed  to  them  both  to  cover  everything. 
"  Different  from  anybody." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Norris.  "  I'll  look  these  over  at  once. 
When  can  you  come  for  them?  or  shall  I  send  them  to  you? 
Or " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Cross.  "  You  might  keep  them.  You 
see,  I  have  the  first  drafts." 

He  got  up  and,  instead  of  turning  to  the  door,  went  to 
the  window,  approaching  it  at  the  side  where  he  was 
screened  by  the  heavy  curtain. 

"What  is  it?  "  asked  Norris. 

Cross  turned  about  and  came  back  to  the  door. 

"  Nothing,  sir,  as  it  happens.  There's  a  fellow  been 
hanging  round  here  for  some  days.  I  waited  a  good  bit 
before  I  came  to-night,  but  some  one  went  out  of  your  door 
and  he  followed  him." 

"  Somebody  hanging  round  my  house?  "  said  Norris. 
"  Impossible/  What  for?" 

"It  just  happens  so,"  said  Cross.  "A  good  many 
people  are  being  shadowed  now." 

"  Some  of  your  fellows,  do  you  mean?  " 

"  No,  sir.     Oh,  no.     I  should  say  Mr.  Charles." 

"  My  son  watching  this  house !  Absurd !  And  who  do 
you  say  went  out?  Who  was  it  the  fellow  followed?  " 

"  Mr.  John,  sir." 


THE    BLACK   DROP  297 

"What  for?" 

Cross  had  nothing  to  offer  here.  But  to  cover  the 
necessity  of  answering  something,  he  did  remark  dis 
creetly  : 

"  I  couldn't  say,  sir,"  and  took  his  leave,  Norris  star 
ing  after  him  and  inwardly  fuming  with  an  uneasy 
curiosity. 

But  he  hadn't  time  to  waste  on  that  now.  He  went 
back  to  his  table,  took  up  the  orderly  sheaf  of  papers 
Cross  had  left  him  and  began  to  read.  And  as  he  read, 
incredulous,  angry  with  the  very  sound  of  words  that 
seemed  to  prove  something  that  could  not  possibly  be 
susceptible  of  proof,  scornful  even  of  such  treason  touch 
ing  one  of  his  blood,  he  knew  in  his  leaden  heart  that  every 
word  was  true.  And  the  others  implicated,  the  names 
he  knew  and  the  world  knew  —  what  madness  stalked 
abroad  upon  the  earth,  what  rottenness  was  at  her  heart 
that  these  malformed  souls  could  be  born  of  her,  live  upon 
her  surface  and  draw  breath  from  her  sun-laden  air? 
Of  these,  he  told  himself  he  need  not  think.  His  son's 
degeneracy  was  enough  for  him  to  grapple  with.  Yet, 
turn  aside  as  he  might,  he  knew  the  whole  earth  was 
poisoned  for  him  by  the  evil  heart  of  man.  At  the  end, 
he  gathered  up  the  papers  and  mechanically  put  them 
in  order  again,  fitting  corners  with  an  aimless  care, 
and  sat  holding  them  in  his  shaking  hands.  And  then  he 
realized  he  had  not  been  silent.  He  had  groaned,  he  had 
called  upon  God,  and  his  mind  sprang  back  across  the 
bright  love-lighted  chasm  of  the  years  to  the  dark  moments 
when  he  had  been  waiting  to  hear  his  sons  were  born  and 
his  wife  had  gone  through  her  travail  to  the  first  resting 
place  beyond.  Then  he  must  have  groaned,  for  he  could 
hear  himself  in  that  terrible  note  of  a  man's  lament.  And 


298  THE   BLACK   DROP 

as  he  laid  the  papers  down,  he  saw  before  him  the  essay  he 
had  been  writing  on  Charles's  character.  "  The  Poli 
tician,"  he  had  called  it,  and  it  read  like  an  abstract  study. 
It  had  not  seemed  to  touch  his  son  at  all.  But  it  was  his 
son,  moving  through  its  every  page.  And  through  his 
own  art,  which  had  not  carried  him  far  in  swaying  men, 
he  had  learned  the  better  to  understand  his  son.  So  well, 
indeed,  that  the  papers  Cross  had  brought  him  caused  him 
no  real  surprise.  They  but  confirmed  what  he  already 
knew,  not  as  to  facts  indeed  but  what  he  had  learned  of  the 
inner  possibilities  of  his  son's  malign  will.  Suddenly  he 
hated  the  papers  in  his  hand  and  threw  them  on  the  table 
and,  urged  by  his  extremity  of  grief,  rose  and  went  up  the 
stairs  to  his  father's  room.  And  there  he  found  grandsir 
sitting,  not  at  the  table  with  his  perfunctory  occupations 
before  him,  but  at  the  fireplace,  his  chair  turned  so  that 
he  obliquely  faced  the  door.  And  so  haggard  did  he  look, 
so  old,  so  wild  with  apprehension,  that  Norris,  who  had 
never  seen  his  calm  thus  broken,  forgot  his  own  distress 
and  asked: 

"  What  is  it,  father?     What's  the  matter?  " 

The  old  man's  mood  seemed  to  break  and  leave  him  some 
relief  from  its  intensity.  He  drew  a  breath  and  said : 

"  I  rather  thought  you'd  come." 

"  But  what  is  it?  "  Norris  brought  a  chair  and  sat 
down  near  him.  "Who's  been  up  here?  anybody  been 
disturbing  you?  " 

Grandsir  shook  his  head. 

"  Nothing  real,  my  boy,"  he  said,  "  nothing  solid.  But 
there  are  strange  things  round  this  house  to-night." 

Norris,  clairvoyant  in  the  intensity  of  his  own  feeling, 
knew  what  he  meant.  They  were  not  actual  things  that 
were  peopling  the  house,  not  stealthy  steps  and  hostile 


THE    BLACK   DROP  299 

faces,  but  fears,  regrets,  aching  lamentations,  the  waking 
ghosts  of  family  life,  the  genius  of  the  race,  lamenting  that 
one  among  them  should  have  been  false  to  universal  bonds. 

"  I  know  what  it  is,  father,"  said  he,  tranquillizing  his 
voice  for  his  father's  sake  and  also  finding  it  easier  to 
bear  his  own  apprehensions  now  another  was  standing 
up  with  him  against  the  ghost.  "  It's  Charles.  We're 
all  worried  about  him.  We're  so  afraid  of  what  he's  doing 
and  what's  going  to  happen  to  him  that  our  fears  are 
stalking  round  the  house." 

Then,  as  he  met  the  sad  response  in  his  father's  face, 
he  realized  for  the  first  time  that  grandsir  was  an  old  man : 
older  than  his  years.  The  war,  besides  killing  youth  in 
its  hideous  ways  at  the  front,  was  stamping  out  age 
because  age  had  its  own  foes  within  the  citadel  and  must 
meet  a  double  menace.  Yet  this  old  man  was  not  terrified 
in  any  sense  of  apprehension.  He  merely  looked  woefully 
tired  of  it  all. 

"  I  have  made  up  my  mind,  Norris,"  he  said,  "  that 
it's  a  losing  battle." 

"  You  mean  the  war?  "  Norris  ventured.  Yet  he  knew 
his  father  did  not  mean  the  war. 

"  No.  I  mean  the  fight  —  life  in  the  dark  here,  life 
for  you,  life  for  Charles  — 

"  That's  it,"  said  Norris,  as  he  paused.  "  What  are 
we  going  to  do  about  Charles  ?  " 

"  Do  you  realize,"  said  grandsir,  striking  the  arm  of  the 
chair  with  his  delicate  hand  in  what  looked  like  an  impotent 
anger,  "  that  he  is  the  spirit  of  evil  in  this  house  and 
that  he  dominates  us  all  ?  " 

'  No,  no,"  said  Norris.  But  it  was  a  perfunctory  denial. 
"  How  does  he  dominate  us?  " 

"  It  has  always  been  so.     You  and  Emily  have  agonized 


300  THE    BLACK    DROP 

over  him  and  prayed  and  besought  him.  And  when  he's 
good,  you're  so  glad  you  conciliate  him  and  let  him  lead 
you.  You've  let  John  grow  up  anyhow  compared  with 
Charles.  And  yet  John  is  a  straight,  clean  fellow  and 
Charles  has  a  black  drop." 

"  Father,"  said  Norris,  beside  himself  with  apprehension 
for  his  father  as  well  as  his  son,  "  what  makes  you  say 
these  things?  What  do  you  know?  " 

"  Nothing,"  said  the  old  man,  "  except  what  I  gather 
from  his  paper.  And  that's  of  no  consequence  really, 
compared  with  the  other  things  that  walk  in  here  at  night 
and  show  me  their  naked  faces.  Good  God,  Norris !  do 
you  think  there's  nothing  in  being  old  and  lying  here  with 
the  ghosts  of  all  the  Tracys  walking  in  and  out  when  you 
can't  sleep?  If  there's  a  doom  on  one  of  us,  don't  you 
suppose  we  can  get  wind  of  it  by  listening  out  into  the 
midnight?  There  are  more  wirelesses  than  the  kinds  that 
zip  and  buzz." 

The  very  air  about  Norris  seemed  to  be  thrilling  with 
strange  intelligences,  their  wings  suffocating  him,  keying 
him  to  a  horrible  suspense.  He  tried  to  beat  them  off, 
to  bring  his  nerves  down  to  a  plane  where  he  could  calm 
his  father  also. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  we  needn't  think  of  it  to-night." 

"  We've  got  to  think  of  it  every  day  and  night,"  said 
his  father,  "  till  we've  made  our  decision.  And  I've  made 
mine.  I  made  it  just  before  you  came  in.  If  one  of  us 
is  a  traitor  —  yes,  if  it's  Emily's  son  and  yours  and 
Helen's  husband  - —  he's  got  to  be  given  over  to  be  tried 
and  punished.  He's  got  to  be  tripped  up,  tied,  bound, 
anything  to  stop  him.  One  man  can't  be  allowed  to  stand 
in  the  way  of  other  innocent  men.  He's  got  a  black  drop, 
and  God  knows  where  it  comes  from.  But  it's  there,  and 


THE    BLACK    DROP  301 

we  Tracys  are  bound  to  see  it  doesn't  spread,  even  if  it 
brings  us  to  the  shedding  of  blood." 

He  did  not  look  shaken  now  nor  old.  He  looked  like  a 
slight,  it  is  true,  delicate,  but  indestructible  intelligence, 
transmitting  the  will  of  his  kin.  But  Norris  hardly  saw 
how  he  was  to  be  brought  down  from  these  heights,  to 
rest  and  the  comfort  of  the  night.  There  was  a  sound  at 
the  door,  Erastus  Triphammer,  rosy,  wholesome,  inter 
rogative,  in  a  solicitous  way,  as  if  he  felt  the  storm  in  the 
air  and  wondered  if  he  could  lead  somebody  to  shelter. 
Grandsir,  too,  saw  him,  stared  at  him  an  instant, 
hardly  recognizing  him  within  the  boundaries  of  his 
flaming  vision,  and  broke  into  a  crowing  laugh. 

"  Bones  !  "  he  said,  "  good  boy,  Bones  !  he's  come  to  put 
me  to  bed.  Good  night,  Norris.  The  ghosts  have  gone. 
Didn't  you  hear  them  scuttling,  when  he  came?" 

Norris  got  up  and  stood  for  a  minute,  his  hand  on  the 
back  of  his  father's  chair,  while  they  looked  at  each  other 
whimsically,  and  grandsir  with  a  humor  that  eased  the 
band  about  his  son's  heart.  Meantime  Bones  was  going 
about,  setting  the  room  to  rights,  and  Norris  felt  a  rush 
of  gratitude  to  him  for  being  so  wholesome  and  so  kind, 
like  the  good  earth. 

"  Good  night,"  he  said  and  grandsir  answered  almost 
jovially. 

But  as  Norris  went  down  the  stairs,  he  told  himself  he 
had  got  his  orders.  Whatever  was  to  be  done  about 
Charles,  it  should  be  without  recourse  to  grandsir.  The 
frail  old  body  could  not  join  in  this  passionate  weaving 
of  the  family  destiny.  It  might  select  the  pattern,  but  it 
couldn't  throw  the  shuttle  any  more.  He  passed  his  own 
room  and  went  on  to  the  lower  hall,  and  there  he  met  his 
wife,  entering  the  front  door.  She  wore  an  evening  cloak 


302  THE   BLACK   DROP 

and  a  piece  of  lace  over  her  head,  and  her  face  was  sunken 
into  grief  of  the  patient,  acquiescent  type.  We  know  that 
look.  It  belongs  to  all  time.  The  Mother  of  Sorrows 
wears  it.  Norris  was  alarmed  by  it,  angry  in  a  measure, 
too.  Must  he  meet  with  anticipatory  tragedy  at  every 
point,  from  the  top  of  the  house  down?  But  he  was 
chiefly  concerned  at  seeing  her  come  in  from  the  night 
where  he  had  been  told  a  mystery  of  surveillance  lay  over 
the  house.  He  took  her  cloak,  touched  her  hand  and  found 
it  cold. 

"Emily,  child,  where  have  you  been?  "  he  scolded  her. 
"  You  mustn't  go  running  out  alone.  Why  didn't  you 
call  me?  " 

She  did  not  answer,  but  went  into  the  sitting-room,  where 
he  followed  her.  There  she  sat  down  before  the  fire,  and 
he  threw  a  log  on  the  smouldering  coals  and  made  them 
blaze.  She  put  her  hand  to  the  warmth  and  then,  as  if 
it  gave  her  heart  to  speak,  said,  in  a  dull  voice : 

"  I  have  been  to  see  Charles." 

"  To  see  Charles?     Where?     At  his  house?  " 

"  Yes." 

"What  for?  Why  didn't  you  telephone  him  to  come 
round?  " 

"  I  got  frightened,"  said  Emily. 

"About  him?" 

"  Yes.  There  was  something  in  the  house  to-night  that 
frightened  me  —  a  feeling,  you  know,  as  if  things  were 
going  to  happen.  And  I  knew  it  was  Charles." 

"  I  wish,"  said  Norris  gently,  drawing  up  a  chair  and 
taking  her  cold  hand,  to  stroke  it,  "  when  you  get  scared 
you'd  feel  like  calling  me." 

"  I  couldn't,"  she  said.  "  I  knew  it  would  worry  you. 
I  couldn't  even  call  grandsir.  He'd  have  been  frightened, 
too.  Besides,  it  was  about  Charles." 


THE   BLACK   DROP  303 

And  suddenly  both  of  them  had  a  vision  —  and  each 
knew  the  other  had  it  —  of  the  time  when  Charles  had  been 
ailing  in  babyhood  and  Emily  had  taken  him  off  with  her 
to  sleep,  because  Norris  mustn't  lose  his  rest.  He  was  at 
work  on  a  novel  —  he  knew  which  one  it  was  —  and  the 
novel  had  fallen  flat  somehow,  and  here  was  the  son  Emily 
had  soothed  in  his  small  miseries,  and  the  son  was  not  only 
a  family  shame  but  a  menace  of  the  nation,  too.  Norris 
felt  the  futility  of  it  all,  of  what  we  seek  to  do  and  what  is 
mysteriously  denied.  Yet  within  him  a  voice  kept  crying, 
even  though  it  was  shaken  by  the  sight  of  these  mother's 
tears,  "  Lift  up  the  gates.  Put  your  weak  shoulders  un 
der  and  lift,  with  all  the  millions  of  men  that  are  lifting, 
that  the  king  of  glory  of  plain  truth,  plain  honor,  may 
come  in." 

But  now  he  had  to  comfort  Emily. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "you  found  Charles?  you  found  him 
all  right?  " 

She  shuddered. 
.    "  He  was  upstairs,"  she  said. 

"  In  the  billiard  room?  " 

"  Yes.  How  did  you  know?  A  man  came  to  the  door, 
a  peculiar  man,  Norris,  not  like  Cross,  not  —  not  well 
trained  in  any  way,  do  you  see?  He  had  the  air  of  want 
ing  to  keep  me  out.  But  I  said  I  was  Charles's  mother, 
and  where  was  he?  for  he'd  said  at  first  Mr.  Tracy  was 
engaged.  He  was  very  doubtful,  and  I  stepped  in.  Then 
lie  spoke  up  to  him.  There  is  a  telephone  in  the  hall. 
There  never  used  to  be.  And  Charles  came  down." 

She  stopped  here  and  Norris  had  to  remind  her  to  go  on. 

"Well?"  he  said.  "He  was  glad  to  see  you,  wasn't 
he?  Unusual  for  you  to  run  round  there.  I  don't  be 
lieve  you've  been  since  we  came  up." 


304  THE   BLACK   DROP 

"  He  was  excited,"  said  Emily.  "  I  can't  find  any  other 
word  for  it.  Annoyed." 

"With  you?" 

"  Yes,  in  a  way.  That  is,  he  explained  he  couldn't  ask 
me  to  sit  down,  because  he'd  a  business  meeting  up  in  the 
billiard  room:  some  men  he  couldn't  get  together  at  any 
other  time." 

"  Yes,"  said  Norris,  "  quite  natural.  Of  course  he 
didn't  want  wandering  ladies  dropping  in  on  high  finance. 
You  ought  to  have  asked  me,  dear.  I  could  have  told 
you  it  was  no  time  to  go." 

But  Emily  wasn't  listening.  She  was  retracing  the 
paths  of  her  talk  with  Charles. 

"  He  didn't  ask  me  to  sit  down  — 

"  Couldn't,  dear.     He'd  got  his  meeting  up  there." 

"  I  know,  I  know.  He  put  his  arm  round  me  and  got 
me  to  the  door,  and  then  I  couldn't  bear  it  and  I  said,  '  O 
Charles,  I'm  afraid  your  paper  is  all  wrong.  You've  got 
hold  of  the  wrong  end  of  everything,  and  you  break  my 
heart.' *  She  looked  at  him  with  her  clear  sad  eyes,  as 
if  craving  his  forgiveness  there.  "  I  had  to  say  that. 
I've  never  begged  and  prayed  Charles.  But  I  felt,  if  he 
was  saying  the  wrong  things  and  influencing  people  the 
wrong  way,  I'd  tell  him  —  it  was  only  fair,  I  thought  — 
just  how  he  breaks  my  heart." 

"  Well,  what'd  he  say?" 

"  He  laughed  and  said  my  heart  shouldn't  be  broken 
if  he  could  help  it,  and  he'd  get  rid  of  the  paper,  if  I  liked. 
But  he  opened  the  door  and  put  me  out,  and  I  was  stand 
ing  there  on  the  step.  And  I  heard  him  call  the  man, 
and  his  voice  was  raised  and  I  knew  he  was  swearing  at  him 
for  letting  me  in." 

"  Left  you  on  the  steps,  did  he?  "  said  Norris,  forgetting 


THE    BLACK    DROP  305 

for  the  minute  he  had  told  her  Charles  couldn't  desert  his 
business  meeting.  "  He  might  at  least  have  come  round 
with  you." 

"  Norris,"  said  his  wife,  "  I'm  frightened.  What  are 
we  going  to  do?  " 

"  The  first  thing  for  you  to  do,"  said  Norris,  with  de 
cision,  "  is  to  get  into  hot  water  and  then  go  to  bed.  Your 
hand  is  like  a  frog.  And  don't  grizzle  about  it,  Emily. 
Don't  worry.  He's  told  you  he'll  get  rid  of  the  paper. 
Anyhow,  don't  think  about  it  to-night." 

She  was  not  convinced.  He  could  not  instil  any  hope 
fulness  into  her,  but  she  did  let  him  coax  her  up  to  bed  and 
gradually  got  to  listening  while  he  talked  to  her  about 
small  commonplace  things.  And  when  she  had  relaxed 
a  little,  in  grateful  love  to  him,  he  left  her  and  went  down 
stairs  again.  The  circle  was  narrowing  about  him. 
Grandsir  was  not  to  fight  out  the  issue  with  him.  And 
now,  after  that  one  first  look  at  her  sorrowing  face,  he 
saw  Emily  also  must  be  exempt.  She  was  not  to  be  al 
lowed  to  remember  her  son  came  to  his  penalty  while  she 
bore  the  knowledge  of  it  and  did  not  save  him.  Now  he 
waited  for  John.  Could  his  son  stand  with  him  within 
that  awful  circle  of  decision  where  he  was  preparing  his 
verdict  against  Charles? 


XXIX 

JOHN  was  late  in  coming.  He  had  been  to  Bailey  be 
cause  Bailey  had  not  come  to  him  and  had  heard  the  story 
of  Adler's  kidnapping.  And  he  was  not  only  so  tired  when 
he  came  in  but  so  absorbed  in  thinking  back  over  the  path 
Bailey  had  led  him  that  he  would  have  liked  to  ignore  his 
father's  voice  from  the  sitting-room.  Norris  sat  before 
the  fire  waiting,  no  book  or  paper  in  his  hand,  and  with 
the  purpose  of  an  interview  so  evident  in  his  attitude  that 
John  threw  his  weariness  aside  and  resolved  to  make  the 
time  his  own.  For  he  had  things  to  say.  He  made  no 
introduction  to  his  purpose. 

"  Wait  a  minute,"  he  said,  "  till  I  get  an  apple.  I  told 
Maggie  to  leave  a  dish  outside  the  dining-room  window." 

He  disappeared  and  was  presently  back  with  a  basket 
of  red  beauties. 

"  It's  no  good  cooling  an  apple  in  an  ice-box,"  he  said, 
with  an  oracular  gravity,  selecting  carefully  and  setting 
the  basket  beside  him  on  the  floor.  "  Outside  air's  the  thing. 
Have  one?  " 

No,  Norris  wouldn't  have  one.  But  while  he  was  con 
sidering  his  way  to  John's  confidence,  John  plunged  in 
and  took  the  talk  into  his  own  hands. 

"  I've  been  over  to  Bailey's." 

"Ah?     Finch  and  Brennan  there,  I  s'pose." 

"No.  That  is,  they  were,  but  we  turned  'em  out. 
Bailey'd  got  things  to  say.  He's  been  down  to  Grass 
lands." 

306 


THE    BLACK   DROP  307 

"  Ah !  "  Another  contingent  down  at  Grasslands,  Nor- 
ris  thought.  It  struck  him  events  were  making  rather 
free  with  Grasslands.  But  he  was  refusing  to  commit 
himself.  The  moment  John  came  into  the  room,  he  knew, 
struck  by  the  beauty  of  his  worn  young  face  —  a  beauty 
of  high  resolve  it  was,  too  —  that  he  was  not  going  to  bring 
any  puzzle  of  dread  decision  into  the  appealing  sensitive 
ness  of  that  face.  "  Enough  to  hang  him."  That  phrase 
kept  beating  through  his  brain.  If  Charles  had  earned 
the  penalty  of  being  hanged,  John  wasn't  the  one  to  push 
him  to  the  scaffold  and  remember  thereafter  that  he  was, 
in  a  measure  however  slight,  his  brother's  slayer. 

"  You  see,"  said  John,  "  I  went  down  there  myself 
Wednesday  because  I  overheard  Charles  telling  you  he  was 
going  and  wanted  the  rest  of  us  kept  off  the  premises.  I 
knew  what  that  meant:  he  was  up  to  something.  I  went 
down  there  and  I  found  out."  Thereupon  he  told  the 
story  of  the  secret  conclave  in  the  library  and  of  his  own 
theft  of  the  bag  and  its  after  disappearance.  "  Of  course," 
he  said,  "  if  there  was  a  chap  following  me,  he  saw  me  chuck 
it  under  the  bridge  and  he  was  the  one  that  took  it  out." 

"Who  was  he?  "  Norris  asked. 

"  Don't  know." 

"Who  do  you  think?" 

"  Haven't  an  idea.  One  of  Charles's  gang.  That's 
natural  to  suppose.  Next  day  I  sent  somebody  down." 
No  word  of  Jessie  here.  John,  lawless  enough  in  his 
own  person,  did  cherish  certain  rigors  imbibed  from  Tracy 
manuals,  and  applied  them  to  other  people,  chiefly  girls. 
Jessie  was  a  great  sport,  but  she  shouldn't  be  mixed  up 
with  amateur  spying,  bless  her !  "  And  I  should  think 
Charles  had  it  safely  back  again,  except  that  Mrs.  Daven 
port  and,  I  should  say  from  the  description,  a  chap  named 


308  THE   BLACK   DROP 

Adler,  were  hunting  round  there,  too.  And  what  could 
they  be  hunting  for  but  that  one  thing?  Now  you  listen 
to  what  Bailey  found  out." 

He  told  Bailey's  story  succinctly,  through  the  kidnap 
ping  of  Adler,  and  Norris  listened  without  comment.  But 
all  the  time  there  ran  through  his  mind  an  undercurrent 
of  resolve  that  John  should  know  no  more  than  he  did  now. 
John  stopped,  went  on  with  his  apple  and  waited  for  his 
father  to  speak.  Here  came  a  new  bewilderment,  for 
Norris  apparently  felt  no  surprise. 

He  merely  said : 

"We'll  let  this  end  here,  you  understand.  You  won't 
go  to  your  mother  with  it,  nor  grandsir?  " 

John  threw  his  core  into  the  fire  and  stared  after  it. 
His  hand  mechanically  sought  the  basket  at  his  side,  but 
he  sat  holding  the  apple  selected,  turning  it  over  and  over. 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  not  mum.  Of  course  not.  But 
grandsir  —  I  always  expect  grandsir  to  tell  me  what  to 
do." 

"  Not  in  this  case,  John,"  said  his  father.  Another 
surprise  this.  Norris  had  exacted  no  rigid  obedience  from 
his  sons.  His  fatherhood  had  been  a  comfortable  old  coat 
worn  with  negligent  ease.  "  This  is  my  business." 

"  Well,  I'll  be  hanged ! "  said  John,  staring  at  him. 
"  But,"  he  reasoned  boyishly,  "  it  was  only  through  me 
Bailey  found  it  out." 

"  Do  you  want  the  job  of  getting  your  brother  into 
trouble?  "  his  father  inquired,  seeking  the  only  way  he 
knew  to  throw  him  off  the  scent.  "  Is  that  it?  " 

John  did  not  answer.  The  color  slowly  suffused  his 
face  and  his  eyes  grew  hot.  At  length  he  did  speak,  and 
with  a  gentleness  that  touched  Norris  greatly. 

"  Father,  I  don't  hate  Charles." 


THE    BLACK   DROP  309 

It  was,  Norris  knew,  a  great  confession,  the  equivalent 
of  many  things.  "  Charles  is  one  of  us,"  it  meant.  "  I 
want  to  save  him.  I  want  to  save  us  all.  But  if  any 
body's  going  to  stand  up  to  this  job  of  getting  him  into 
the  trouble  he  deserves,  I'm  ready  to  be  the  one." 

"  I  know,"  said  Norris.  "  I  know  all  about  it.  I  only 
mean  you've  got  to  give  the  thing  into  my  hands  and  leave 
it  there.  Oh,  hang  it  all,  John!  I  ask  you  to.  You'll 
let  me  if  I  ask  you?  " 

"  All  right,"  said  John.  He  got  up,  leaving  his  apples 
there  on  the  floor.  The  look  of  his  forlornness  touched 
his  father  immeasurably.  John  had  come  to  him  with 
the  evidence  that  had  staggered  his  own  reason,  and  he  was 
simply  being  told  to  go  away  and  be  a  little  boy  again  and 
keep  his  meddling  small  fingers  out  of  great  affairs.  "  I 
only  told  you,"  he  said,  "  because  I  thought  you  ought  to 
know  what  Charles  wanted  Grasslands  for.  Besides  — 
well,  I  thought  you  were  the  one  to  know." 

"  I  am  the  one  to  know,"  said  Norris.  He  rose  and 
hoped  for  a  minute  he  could  put  his  arm  over  the 
strong  young  shoulders,  but  somehow  didn't  dare. 
They  couldn't  blubber  over  each  other,  two  men  grown, 
and  pledge  their  fealty.  So  he  ended  lamely :  "  I'm  in  a 
devil  of  a  hole  about  all  this,  John.  You  let  me  crawl  out 
the  best  way  I  can.  And  if  you  can  give  me  a  hand,  I'll 
tell  you.  Honest  I  will." 

"  All  right,"  said  John  again,  though  not  more  cheer 
fully,  and  went  off  to  bed. 

Norris  stayed  a  miserable  half  hour  by  the  fire,  wish 
ing  he  had  any  of  the  emotional  reliefs  of  more  pliant 
human  nature  before  him  and  cursing  the  shyness  of  the 
male  animal  which  wouldn't  let  him  call  out  to  the  other, 
equally  suffering  and  equally  shy.  John,  he  knew,  was  off 


310  THE   BLACK   DROP 

up  there  by  himself  in  the  pathetic  loneliness  of  youth 
denied  the  sympathy  of  age.  But  the  one  conclusion  of 
it  was,  he  knew,  as  he  covered  the  fire,  that  he  was  indubi 
tably  alone  in  his  circle  of  decision.  He  went  over  it  all 
again.  Neither  grandsir  nor  Emily  could  be  admitted  there, 
and  he  had  learned,  with  an  added  conviction  after  the  sight 
of  John's  wistful  face,  that  he  must  be  kept  even  farther 
off  than  they.  Age  had  a  shorter  time  to  suffer.  Youth 
was  setting  out  on  the  long,  long  road. 

The  next  morning  he  went  over  to  Helen's,  and  found 
her  and  Jessie  at  their  task.  They  were  delighted  to  see 
him,  also  surprised,  for  he  had  never  called  upon  them 
here.  They  got  up  and  fussed  about  him  with  much  solici 
tude,  and  when  they  were  seated  he  found  himself  greatly 
touched  by  their  pleasure  in  him.  Helen  was  quite  flushed 
with  it.  "  Nice  girls ! "  he  thought.  "  Dear,  pretty 
girls !  "  and  he  was  going  indirectly  to  thrust  them  out 
into  the  stress  of  the  world's  dire  extremity.  He  meant  to 
give  no  reason  for  their  going.  Only  they  must  go. 

"  Keep  on  working,"  he  said  to  them.  "  I  can  talk 
better  if  you're  not  looking  at  me." 

So  they  settled  to  their  deft-handed  task  and  he  watched 
the  white  fingers  flying,  with  an  attention  he  hoped  would 
keep  his  eyes  from  any  too  pronounced  interrogation  of 
their  faces,  to  confuse  or  make  him  stumble. 

"The  fact  is,"  he  said,  "I've  come  to  hurry  you  girls 
off.  Jessie's  on  pins  to  go  to  France.  I  want  you  both 
to  go.  I  want  you  to  go  as  soon  as  you  can  break  up 
here." 

The  white  hands  paused  over  their  work.  He  was 
aware  of  that,  but  he  would  not  lift  his  eyes  to  theirs. 
Jessie  had  drawn  a  quick  breath.  She  was  with  him,  he 
knew.  She  had  been  pushing  everybody  mentally,  for  a 


THE   BLACK   DROP  311 

long  space,  to  clear  the  way  to  France.  But  Helen  asked 
an  instant  question: 

"  Why  do  you  want  us  to  go  ?  " 

"  It's  a  very  unsatisfactory  state  of  things  here,"  said 
Norris,  presenting  the  argument  as  he  had  arranged  it. 
"  Disheartening  for  you,  and  unnecessarily  so.  You  want 
to  go.  You  both  want  it.  Why  not  go  now?  " 

Then  Helen  gave  him  a  challenge  that  brought  his  eyes 
to  her  face. 

"What  is  it?"  she  asked.  "What  have  you  found 
out?  " 

Their  eyes  met  and  held.  He  was  dominated  by  the 
force  and  brilliancy  of  her  look.  She  knew  there  was 
something  underneath  and  she  was  determined  on  dragging 
it  out.  But  he  wasn't  going  to  be  forced  by  this  dear 
creature  to  her  own  undoing.  He  would  keep  his  prede 
termined  way.  Still  meeting  her  eyes,  he  answered  dog 
gedly  : 

"  It's  an  impossible  situation  for  you  here.  You've 
left  Charles,  but  you're  likely  to  meet  him  any  hour  in  the 
day.  You  have  your  common  friends.  You  don't  explain. 
Oh,  of  course,  I  know  you  can't.  But  it's  deuced  awk 
ward  just  the  same.  The  whole  thing's  impossible. 
You're  too  near.  And  with  everybody  going  to  France, 
you've  every  reason  for  going,  too.  It's  a  way  out." 

"  Daddy,"  said  Helen,  "  dear  daddy,  you've  got  to  tell 
me."  (Was  the  siren  calling  him  that,  he  thought  ruefully, 
for  added  invincible  persuasion?)  "  What  have  you 
found  out  about  him?  " 

"  Well,"  said  Norris,  "  I  don't  want  to  go  into  this  busi 
ness  of  the  newspaper  woman."  He  was  resolved  to  keep 
it  on  that  basis,  but  he  found  himself  flinching,  though  he 
met  her  gaze.  Indeed,  it  seemed  to  him  now  he  had  to  meet 


312  THE    BLACK    DROP 

it.  "  In  fact,  I  know  no  more  about  that  than  you  do, 
probably  not  so  much.  Only  it's  uncomfortable.  It's  — 
it's  impossible.  And  the  best  thing  you  girls  can  do  is 
to  get  away." 

She  wasn't  going  to  release  him  from  the  appealingness 
of  her  eyes  or  the  challenge  of  her  will. 

"  Just  what,"  she  asked,  "  have  you  found  out?  " 

Then,  because  he  felt  his  defences  crumbling  and  knew, 
though  he  had  meant  to  save  her,  that  she  had  as  much 
right  as  he  to  the  knowledge  of  what  might  befall  his  son, 
he  said  plainly : 

"  Helen,  I'd  rather  you  wouldn't  ask  me.  And  if  you 
do,  I'm  not  sure  I  shall  tell  you.  But  I  will  tell  you  this 
much.  Charles  is  pro-German.  Whether  he's  paid  for 
it  or  not,  I  don't  know.  And  he's  likely  to  be  found  out. 
And  if  he  is  found  out,  I'd  rather  you  and  Jessie  were  away." 

She  got  up  from  the  table  and  walked  once  back  and 
forth  through  the  room.  Then  she  sat  down  again,  at  a 
nearness  to  Norris  that  let  him  see  the  clear  wells  of  her 
eyes,  the  threads  of  dark  color  in  them  so  cunningly  en 
hancing  their  rich  beauty,  and  said  to  him : 

"  You  think  you'd  surprise  me,  shock  me,  kill  me  per 
haps,  if  you  told  me  what  you  know.  Whatever  it  is,  I 
could  surprise  you  more." 

Then,  with  no  self-explanatory  comment  and  an  unde- 
viating  directness,  she  went  over  her  own  discovery  of 
Charles's  activities.  It  was  all  very  quickly  done,  when 
you  consider  the  content  of  it,  she  told  it  so  tersely,  ran 
with  such  swift,  clean  paces  to  her  point.  And  this  was 
not  surprising,  for  she  had  thought  of  it  unbrokenly  in 
every  minute  of  leisure  her  mind  had  ;  indeed,  even  when  her 
outward  attention  was  elsewhere,  a  deep  undercurrent  beat 
on  preoccupied  with  this  damning  evidence.  Norris  never 


THE    BLACK   DROP  313 

ceased  looking  at  her,  because  her  eyes  were  on  his,  com 
manding,  insisting  that  he  take  in  what  she  brought  him, 
fit  it  into  his  own  testimony  and  let  them  decide  together 
what  fabric  they  could  make  of  it.  At  the  end  she  fal 
tered,  as  if  breath  failed  her.  But  it  would  not  have  failed, 
he  knew,  if  there  had  been  more  to  say.  She  could  key  her 
self  up  to  any  task  and  remain  at  the  point  of  tension  until 
it  should  be  done. 

"  That's  all,"  she  said  faintly.     "  That  is  really  all." 

Meantime  Jessie,  not  looking  up,  sat  folding  compresses 
without  a  false  motion  of  her  weaving  hands.  Only  her 
cheeks  were  scarlet,  and  Norris,  glancing  at  her  now,  won 
dered  whether  it  was  with  compassion  for  Helen  or  anger 
against  Charles  and  so  perhaps  distaste  for  all  the  Tracys. 
As  for  him,  he  was  entirely  at  a  loss  for  anything  to  say. 
No  palliatives  here,  no  hollow  consolations.  She  would, 
he  read  in  every  line  of  her  tense  figure,  choose  with  him  the 
Roman  way.  He  got  up,  took  her  hand,  kissed  it  and  then 
sat  down  again. 

"  Well,  Helen,"  he  said,  at  length,  "  doesn't  it  make  you 
the  more  prepared  for  what  I've  suggested?  If  this 
comes  out  —  and  it's  bound  to,  you  know  —  we  can't 
shield  him ;  we  mustn't.  If  he  is  accused  and  arrested, 
you'd  better  be  as  far  off  as  possible.  I  wish  I  could  send 
his  mother  away  from  every  sight  and  sound  of  it.  But 
I  can't.  She'll  have  to  meet  it  when  it  comes.  And  she'll 
bear  it,  too.  Only  I  wish  she  could  be  saved.  But  you 
can,  my  dear.  You  can  be  saved.  Now  here  are  Jessie 
and  I  trying  to  do  it.  You  let  us  save  you,  Helen." 

"  Yes,"  said  Jessie,  a  breathless  word.  She  stopped 
folding  now  and  leaned  forward,  looking  at  Helen  across 
the  table,  all  passionate  pleading.  "  It's  the  way,  Nell, 
the  only  way." 


314  THE   BLACK   DROP 

Helen  smiled  a  little  sadly,  regretfully  for  them,  because 
they  must  be  disappointed. 

"  No,"  she  said.  "  I  can't  do  it.  If  he's  going 
to  be  disgraced  —  and  punished  —  I  must  go  back  to 
him." 

"Go  back  to  him!" 

They  both  echoed  it  in  sharp  interrogation,  Norris 
with  amazement  and  Jessie  in  complete  rebuttal.  But 
Helen,  whose  tension  seemed  to  relax  as  theirs  tightened, 
answered  in  a  perfectly  matter  of  fact  calm: 

"  I  must  certainly  go  back.  That  is,  if  he's  got  this  to 
go  through." 

Jessie  spoke  hotly  from  the  keenness  of  her  disappoint 
ment: 

"Perhaps  he  won't  want  you  to  go  back.  There's 
Mrs.  Davenport.  We'd  better  not  forget  that." 

Then,  as  she  had  said  it,  she  realized  the  cruelty  of  it 
and  flushed  the  deeper  at  what  she  named  inwardly  her  own 
brutality.  But  Helen  did  not  blench.  How  should  Jessie 
know  how  far  was  this  drear  journey  from  the  old 
time  dancing  on  the  lighted  path  of  love,  how  far  from  for 
giveness,  from  justice  how  immeasurably  far?  But  if 
he  had  got  to  accept  the  supreme  suffering  of  his  life  in 
the  nemesis  that  was  stalking  him,  he  would  need  com 
pany  in  the  dark  way,  the  touch  of  the  hand  that  had  been 
used  to  serving  him,  the  eyes  that  saw  all  his  waywardness 
now  but  saw  it  without  anger. 

"I  think,"  she  said,  "  —  I  am  sure  —  I  should  have  to 
go  back." 

It  was  Norris  who  also  saw  she  would  be  constrained 
to,  and  he  came  to  it  through  two  channels  of  knowledge 
which  reenforced  each  other  and  made  the  solid  image, 
as  the  eyes  bring  vision  to  the  brain.  Through  Emily, 


THE   BLACK   DROP  315 

first,  he  understood  it,  because  this,  he  knew,  was  exactly 
what  Emily  would  have  done  if  he  had  cast  her  off  and 
again  needed  her  supremely.  Emily  would  be  there.  And 
again  from  another  angle  he  saw  it,  because  he  was  accus 
tomed  to  considering  the  souls  of  men  and  setting  them 
down  for  other  men  to  read  about.  How  foolish  he  had 
been  to  think  he  could  move  a  woman  from  her  sworn  de 
votion. 

"  I  don't  think,  dear,"  he  said,  trying  to  be  fatherly 
in  counsel  and  wishing  tremendously  for  grandsir  to  take 
the  case,  "  I'd  make  up  my  mind  about  that  just  yet.  As 
Jessie  says,  there  is  a  complication.  And  it  may 
not  be  a  very  serious  complication  —  that  is,  not  big  emo 
tions,  you  know,  not  noble  nor  even  very  much  to  be  turned 
out  for  —  but  you  might  find  yourself  up  against  some 
thing  pretty  tawdry.  And  that  would  hurt  you  —  dis 
proportionately  to  the  good  you'd  do  —  and  we  don't  want 
you  to  go  through  any  such  thing  as  that,  Jessie  and  I 
don't.  Do  we,  Jessie?  " 

Jessie  shook  her  head,  voicelessly  troubled,  and  Norris, 
feeling  miserably  that  he  hadn't  been  adequate,  that  a  part 
had  been  set  him  in  a  turbulent  drama  and  he  had  boggled 
it,  got  up  to  go. 

"  At  least,"  he  said,  "  you  won't  make  any  move  till  I 
tell  you  —  well,  till  I  tell  you  there's  a  crisis  ?  " 

"  You  mean,"  said  Helen  clearly,  "  when  Charles  is  to 
be  arrested  you'll  tell  me." 

He  hesitated. 

"  Yes,"  he  said  then,  seeing  it  would  be  impossible  to  put 
her  off  except  to  some  impetuous  action  of  her  own,  "  I'll 
tell  you.  At  least,  I  think  I  will." 

"  And  she'll  go  to  him,"  said  Jessie,  out  of  her  irre 
pressible  aversion  to  the  whole  thing.  "  Helen,  you'll 


316  THE    BLACK   DROP 

mix  yourself  up  in  a  scandal,  and  what  will  be  the  good, 
to  him  or  anybody?  " 

Helen  had  risen  and  stood  facing  them ;  in  every  motion 
and  every  line  of  argument  they  were  ranged  against  her, 
yet  somehow,  Jessie  felt  hotly,  she  had  put  them  in  the 
wrong.  Their  rash  sympathy  had  not  brought  them 
nearer.  It  was  setting  them  further  away.  The  bond 
was  tightening  that  still  held  her  in  the  sworn  fealty  of 
family  life.  Now  she  spoke  with  a  dignity  they  found 
not  so  much  admonitory  as  inherent  in  the  gravity  of  her 
task: 

"  If  men  are  coming  into  his  house  to  take  him  away, 
they  mustn't  find  him  alone.  I  must  be  there  with  him." 

Jessie,  pushed  away  out  of  the  sacred  circle  where  hus 
band  and  wife  stood  in  that  mystery  of  a  defensive  tie, 
flamed  up  in  jealous  anger  and  again  said  what  she  would 
not: 

"And  Mrs.  Davenport?  What  if  they  find  her  there, 
too?" 

"  She  will  have  to  go,"  said  Helen  quietly.  "  Or  she 
can  stay :  for  that  I  can't  control.  But  I  shall  be  there 
too." 

All  the  powers  of  righteous  law  might  have  been  behind 
her,  upholding  the  sanctities  of  the  home  her  husband  had 
defiled.  Norris  was  abashed  before  her. 

"  Well,  my  dear,"  he  said,  and  felt  he  said  it  weakly, 
"  don't  do  anything  rash.  And  remember  this  is  between 
us  three.  That  I  insist  on." 

He  got  out  of  the  apartment  and  went  down  the  stairs 
feeling  not  like  a  Roman  father  but  an  ineffectual  person 
who  had  tried  to  do  a  delicate  job  and  muddled  it  irre 
trievably.  As  he  went  along  the  street  a  man  behind 
overtook  him  and  fell  into  step.  It  was  Cross.  Norris 


THE    BLACK    DROP  317 

looked  around,  gave  him  a  nod  and  asked,  he  was  afraid  un 
graciously,  for  he  didn't  want  to  encounter  any  other 
aspect  of  the  puzzle  until  he  had  got  back  the  self-respect 
lost  by  his  ineptitude : 

"  Well  ?     Anything  more  ?  " 

"  I've  been  waiting  for  you,"  Cross  replied.  "  I  want 
to  know  what  madam  says." 

There  was  no  serving  man's  deference  about  him  now. 
He  was  on  a  job,  though  of  his  own  appointing,  and  he 
spoke  and  acted  with  the  decision  fitted  to  it.  Norris 
gave  a  brief  moment  to  wonder  that  he  could  admit  him  to 
discussion  of  his  son's  most  intimate  affairs.  Yet  he  felt 
no  distaste  for  Cross.  They  both  seemed  to  be  in  a  mis 
erable  coil  together,  and  Cross  was  the  honest  man  who 
was  as  likely  to  help  them  all  out  as  tie  the  tangle  tighter. 
Social  barriers  had  fallen,  as  they  were  falling  in  the  ranks 
that  fought  Over  There.  In  the  forest  fire,  hereditary 
foes  were  taking  together  to  the  stream. 

"Waiting  for  me?"  said  Norris.  "  Am  I  being  shadowed, 
too?  "  He  said  it  humorously,  as  he  felt,  though  grimly. 

"  I  knew  you'd  go  to  see  madam  this  morning,"  said 
Cross  simply.  "How  about  France?" 

Norris  laughed,  a  little  outburst  of  perfunctory  amuse 
ment  over  his  accounting  to  Cross  for  family  decisions. 

"Go?  She  won't,"  said  he  succinctly.  "Moreover 
she  asked  me  what  was  likely  to  happen,  proved  to  me  she 
knew  as  much  about  her  husband's  activities  as  I  did,  and 
says  if  he  gets  into  trouble  she'll  go  back  to  him  and 
see  him  through." 

"  No !  "  shouted  Cross,  so  explosively  that  a  woman, 
passing  them,  looked  round  at  him.  But  he  at  once  re 
covered  himself.  "  Then,"  he  said,  "  he  mustn't  get  into 
trouble  —  not  yet." 


318  THE    BLACK   DROP 

He  stopped  abruptly,  touched  his  hat,  and  went  his  way. 

Helen  left  alone  with  her  sister,  turned  to  Jessie  in  a 
soft  tenderness  because  she  understood  the  girl's  tempestu 
ous  mind. 

"  Jessie,"  she  said,  as  if  she  begged  forgiveness,  "  O 
Jess !  " 

Jessie's  anger  had  gone,  but  the  hurt  of  it  was  not.  She 
began  to  cry,  and  Helen,  who  had  not  seen  her  so  undone 
for  years,  was  beside  herself  with  alarm  and  misery.  She 
knelt  by  her,  put  her  arms  about  the  rocking  figure  and 
solaced  herself  with  inarticulate  sounds  of  comfort.  And 
Jessie,  though  full  of  her  own  grief,  was  remorseful,  too. 

"  I  behaved  dreadfully,"  she  said,  at  last,  when  her  sobs 
had  come  down  to  rending  breaths.  "  But  how  can  you, 
Nell,  oh,  how  can  you?  how  can  you  think  of  such  a 
thing?  " 

Helen  spoke  once  only  in  answer  to  this.  Indeed  it 
hardly  seemed  to  her  wise,  even  in  her  pity,  to  speak  at  all, 
because  she  must  maintain  her  point. 

"You  don't  quite  see,  Jess.  When  you're  married, 
you'll  understand." 

Jessie's  sobs  ceased  at  the  strange  reminiscent  shock  of 
it.  That  was,  she  thought,  what  John's  mother  had  said  to 
him.  She  put  it  away  in  her  mind,  to  think  over. 

"  But  not  yet,  Nell,  not  yet,"  she  aUowed  herself  to  say. 
"  Don't  even  think  of  it  yet." 


XXX 

THAT  afternoon,  just  as  the  dusk  was  falling  and  the 
lights  blooming  out  in  it  like  gay  encouraging  signals  to 
say  another  sort  of  day  had  begun,  John,  crossing  the 
Common,  met  Helen,  walking  fast.  He  was  much  pleased. 
She  would  let  him  turn  about  with  her  and  they  would 
walk  together,  only  that  pace  of  hers  would  have  to  be 
slackened  for  his  infirmity.  But  she  gave  him  a  look,  a 
call,  a  wave  of  the  hand  —  a  wave  of  dismissal  and  fare 
well,  he  felt  it  to  be  —  and  she  was  past  him  and  flying  on. 
Something  in  her  face,  too,  was  tragic  like  that  hurrying 
pace.  He  went  along  slowly,  thinking  her  over,  the  mean 
ing  of  her  look  and,  because  he  must  know,  rang  the  bell  of 
her  apartment  to  be  told  Jessie  was  at  home.  And  here 
the  tragedy  was  duplicated,  so  far  as  what  was  Helen 
could  be  repeated  in  Jessie.  She  was  by  the  window, 
apparently  watching  the  lights.  It  was  a  little  ceremo 
nial  of  twilight  she  and  Helen  loved.  She  did  not  turn  as 
he  came  in,  and  he  went  to  her,  asking  bluffly  when  he  was 
half  across  the  room: 

"What's  the  matter  with  her?  I've  just  met  her.  Jessie, 
she's  down  and  out." 

He  had  reached  her  by  the  window,  and  now  she  turned 
to  him  and  through  the  dusk  he  saw  her  pale,  stained  face. 
She  had  been  crying  again,  Jessie  who  aimed  at  being  so 
game  she  never  cried.  Her  face  gave  him  a  double  be 
wilderment,  but  for  that  instant  he  thought  only  of  Helen. 

319 


320  THE    BLACK    DROP 

"Where's  she  going  anyway?"  he  pursued,  "after 
dark,  too.  You  said  she  shouldn't  go  out  alone." 

"  Getting  the  air,  she  told  me,"  said  Jessie  bitterly. 
"  And  running  away  from  me.  I  wanted  to  go  with  her. 
She  wouldn't  let  me.  She's  got  to  have  a  minute  to  get 
hold  of  herself." 

"  She  didn't  say  that,  not  that  way?  " 

"  No,  she's  too  sweet.  But  unhappy !  O  John,  un 
happy  !  I've  been  a  beast." 

"  Rubbish,"  said  John.     "  You  two  don't  scrap." 

"  No.  But  she  told  me  what  she  was  going  to  do  and 
I  flared  up.  I'm  a  firebrand  you  know.  If  you  didn't 
know  it,  I'll  tell  you  now." 

"What  about?" 

"She  said,  if  he  got  into  trouble  — 

"He?     Charles?" 

"  Yes.      If  he's  disgraced  she'll  go  back  to  him." 

"By  God!  she  sha'n't,"  cried  John,  and  heard  himself 
shout  it  without  knowing  what  he  said.  And  Jessie  stand 
ing  there  piteous  before  him,  and  looking  up  at  him  as  if 
she  believed  he  could  really  bring  about  what  would  keep 
more  tears  from  her  lovely  cheeks,  he  suddenly  ceased  think 
ing  of  Helen  and  thought  of  her.  He  put  out  his  hand 
and  touched  her  shoulder  timidly,  and  then  was  frightened 
at  the  warmth  of  her  skin  under  the  soft  lace. 

"  Don't,"  he  said.     "  Don't  cry." 

"  No,"  said  Jessie,  "  I  won't  cry." 

But  she  looked  at  him  so  miserably  obedient  and  humble 
in  her  certainty  of  having  done  everything  wrong  that  she 
went  to  his  heart,  and  opened  the  door  there  and  shut  it 
after  her  and  made  it  breathless  from  the  warmth  and 
sweetness  of  her.  He  put  out  both  hands  now  and  drew 
her  toward  him,  and  their  cheeks  touched  and  they  stood 


THE    BLACK    DROP  321 

there  silent,  afraid  and  wildly  happy.  Then  John  said 
her  name  and  turned  her  face  to  him  and  they  kissed,  and 
when  she  would  have  left  him  he  caught  her  back,  and  in 
stead  of  telling  her  what  he  felt  about  their  mingled  fear 
and  rapture,  asked  it  in  a  question  instead : 

"  Jessie,  do  you  suppose  we  are  in  love?  " 

She  didn't  answer,  but  he  felt  her  trembling  and,  with  a 
queer  sharp  pang  he  hadn't  been  prepared  for,  said  to  her, 
in  words  that  came  of  themselves  and  that  he  would  never 
have  chosen,  so  childish  were  they: 

"Have  you  been  in  love  before?" 

"  No,"  said  Jessie.  "  Not  ever.  But,"  she  added  jeal 
ously,  "  you  have.  There's  Helen." 

"Helen?" 

"  You  think  she's  the  most  beautiful  —  ever.  You  said 
so." 

"  I  love  you,"  said  John,  for  sufficient  answer,  "  nobody 
but  you."  And  having  said  it,  half  against  his  will,  he 
felt  a  strange  acquiescence,  as  if  something  tremendous  in 
his  life  were  over  for  good.  "  Helen?  "  he  said  again 
vaguely.  Helen,  in  her  perfections,  seemed  as  far  away  as 
the  stars,  beautiful  like  them  and  yet  remote,  and  this 
adoration  in  his  arms  was  his, —  the  warmth  of  the  sun, 
the  shadow  from  its  too  fervent  heat,  sweet  sleep  in  unison 
of  breath,  the  earth  that  blessed  and  fed  and  beckoned  you 
to  its  bosom  for  the  last  sleep  of  all.  Helen  would  always 
be  beauty  unattainable  and  rare,  but  a  little  blurred  now 
because  they  had  together  unwittingly  pushed  her  so  far 
away.  "  We  must  be  awfully  good  to  Helen,"  he  said. 

"  Good  to  her !  good  to  Helen  !     That's  what  we're  for." 

"  She'll  be  lonesome,"  said  John,  "  when  we're  married 
—  unless  we  see  to  it." 

She  gave  a  little  start  at  that.     But  it  wasn't  surprise. 


322  THE    BLACK   DROP 

The  truth  is  that  she  had  got  quite  used  to  seeing  herself 
married  to  John. 

"We  sha'n't  be  lonesome  any  more,"  said  John.  It 
suddenly  seemed  to  him  he  had  been  a  wandering  light 
without  her,  and  she  asked  him,  laughing  a  little,  tenderly, 
to  make  it  banter: 

"  But  you  haven't  been  lonesome.  You've  had  them  all, 
your  father  and  mother  and  grandsir  — 

"It's    different,"    said    John.     "They've    forgotten  - 
this.     All  but  grandsir.     I  don't  believe  he  forgets.     Any 
how,  we're  not  alone  any  more.     We're  a  crowd." 

"  She  mustn't  go  back  to  him,"  said  Jessie.  "  We 
mustn't  let  her.  And  yet,"  she  added,  with  a  sudden  access 
of  blinding  knowledge,  "  I  should  want  to  go  back  to  you." 

There  was  a  good  deal  of  this,  strophe  and  answer  of 
lyric  love,  and  every  word  of  it  so  significant  that  each  put 
it  down  with  the  sharp  stylus  of  remembrance  for  "the 
sessions  of  sweet  silent  thought,"  if  ever  they  should  be 
briefly  separated.  Or  perhaps  it  was  only  the  woman 
who  meant  to  think  back  to  it  again.  The  man  had  no 
such  tender  thrift.  He  was  all  for  squandering.  Yet 
John  had  also  the  strangest  sharp  sensation  of  having  come 
a  long  road,  with  Jessie  at  the  end.  And  there  was, 
beside  the  long  road  feeling,  a  sudden  sense  of  stability, 
of  waiting  for  things  to  come  to  pass.  It  was  all  differ 
ent,  the  earth  as  he  had  grown  used  to  looking  on  it.  The 
tree  was  thinking  down  to  its  root,  not  forgetful  of  the 
old  commerce  with  birds  and  wafting  airs,  but  conscious  of 
a  deeper  clutch  in  earth,  of  having  to  stay  just  here  and 
shelter  something.  John  found  himself  tremulously  feeling 
along  the  chain  of  life,  reaching  his  hand  back  to  his  father 
and  grandsir  and  at  the  same  time  holding  Jessie  to  him 
in  the  appointed  bond.  Was  this  the  family?  he  didn't 


THE    BLACK    DROP  323 

ask  himself  that,  but  assuredly  these  were  breathless  recog 
nitions  he  was  meeting  for  the  first  time. 

"  That  was  the  reason,"  he  said  tumultuously,  "  wasn't 
it?  the  reason  we  hated  each  other  so  at  first.  It's  the 
same  thing,  in  degree,  anyway  —  love  head  on  and  crash 
ing  down  on  you.  No  wonder  you're  so  scared  and  shocked 
it  makes  you  mad." 

Jessie  did  not  answer  this.     She  had  never  hated  him. 

"  I'll  tell  you,"  he  said,  "  —  I  haven't  told  anybody  else 
—  I  see  now  why  I  didn't  —  it  had  to  be  you  —  I'm  bet 
ting  on  Landis.  I  believe  in  him,  same  as  Bones  does. 
And  if  I'm  not  going  to  be  lame,  I  shall  be  a  decent  enough 
fellow  to  marry.  Besides,  if  the  war  lasts,  don't  you  see 
I  might  get  into  it  ?  " 

Then  they  heard  Helen's  key  and  he  said : 

"  I'm  going  to  tell  her.  We  must  tell  them  all,  Helen 
first  and  then  grandsir." 

"  No,"  she  said,  this  as  Helen  was  opening  the  outer 
door,  "you  mustn't.  Don't  you  see?  —  not  while  she's 
so  sorry.  She's  lonesome.  And  we're  a  crowd." 

The  figure  was  an  ecstasy.  She  saw  them,  John  and  her 
self,  flying  along,  attended  by  all  the  laughing  nymphs  and 
graces,  the  dancing  hours,  life,  life  in  abundance.  Helen 
came  in  presently  and  found  them  in  the  dusk  and  excitedly 
glad,  it  seemed,  to  see  her.  She  turned  on  the  light  and 
found  the  two  faces  full  of  an  eager,  tremulous  emotion 
she  had  no  difficulty  in  translating.  They  had  been  talk 
ing  of  her,  she  knew,  and  were  planning  how  to  be  kind. 
And  some  of  her  misery  fell  away  from  her,  and  she  gave 
Jessie's  heart  a  lift  by  showing  she  had  got  hold  of  herself 
and  meant  to  be  the  old  Helen  again. 


XXXI 

AND  now,  what  of  Charles?  while,  to  this  little  group 
with  its  eyes,  for  one  reason  or  another,  focused  upon  him, 
he  loomed  black  and  sinister  because  his  deeds  were  evil, 
was  he  monstrous  to  himself?  Did  he  see  that  he  was 
stumbling  about  in  the  underworld  and  long,  even  though 
briefly,  to  escape  and  visit  the  clear  air  and  sun?  Not  at 
all.  He  felt  very  much  the  same  except,  as  he  would  have 
said,  he  was  not  quite  fit.  He  was  still  drinking  heavily, 
and  his  nerves  were  not  of  the  sort  to  stand  it.  But  a  man 
who  had  his  worries  would  have  been  of  a  titanic  strength 
to  abjure  all  artificial  bracers  in  a  life  of  what  had  become 
little  less  than  a  daily  emergency.  For  he  had  worries 
from  which  not  even  Elsa  could  save  him,  and  she  was,  he 
gave  her  credit,  a  trump,  going  with  him  step  by  step, 
warning  him  here  and  at  another  point  buttressing  him 
against  the  effects  of  his  own  tremors.  While  the  loss  of 
Captain  Pfaff's  papers  had  at  first  angered  him  chiefly 
through  John's  inexplicable  connection  with  it,  later  it 
had  clutched  him  in  the  grasp  of  a  great  anxiety.  He 
might  lie  down  at  night  with  the  worry  drugged  by  some 
specific  or  other,  but,  when  he  woke,  there  it  was  under  the 
coverlet  with  him,  clawing  at  his  heart.  Always  it  was 
ready  for  him  in  that  baleful  moment  between  three  and 
four  when  the  body,  feeling  its  mortality,  is  weak  before 
the  foe.  He  had  lost  the  pride  of  self-control  and  carried 
his  fear  to  Elsa  like  a  child,  and  she  fought  it  for  him  with 
such  clear  logic  and  indomitable  will  that  he  began  to  look 
upon  her  not  only  as  his  delight  but  the  guardian  of  his 
peace. 

324 


THE    BLACK   DROP  325 

One  evening  —  and  this  was  before  the  arrest  of  Adler 
—  he  went  to  her  in  a  state  of  tremor  that  terrified  the 
inmost  heart  of  him.  Was  he  going  to  have  nerves  at 
last,  he  asked  himself,  the  sort  he  had  seen  in  some  fellows 
who  had,  in  varying  ways,  done  for  themselves?  He  let 
himself  in  —  he  had  a  key  to  the  apartment  now  —  and 
felt  at  once  a  lull  of  momentary  safety  to  hear  the  piano 
thundering  out  a  noble  flood  of  triumphant  processionals 
to  some  sort  of  victory  —  and  what  victory  but  his  ? 
Elsa  came  to  him  and  gave  herself  to  him  passionately. 
He  knew  she  would  when  he  heard  that  emotional  torrent 
from  the  keys,  and  he  blessed  the  long  dead  wizards  who 
moved  her  as  he  could  not  and  turned  her  over  to  him  for 
his  comforting,  they  who  needed  comforting  no  more. 
And  he  led  her  to  the  window-seat,  the  lights  low,  his  arms 
about  her  while  he  told  her  in  a  broken  sentence  how  much 
he  feared. 

"  But  don't  you  realize,"  she  said,  "  it's  your  own 
brother  that  stole  it?  Do  you  think  he'd  inform  on  you? 
Not  he.  He's  a  nice  hot-headed  lad,  but  as  conven 
tional  as  the  rest  of  you.  He  won't  give  up  a  Tracy,  for 
he  knows  what  it  means  —  a  Federal  prison,  at  the  least." 

Charles  shook  his  head  over  the  soft  hair  that  touched 
his  shoulder. 

"  You're  forgetting,  too,"  he  said.  "  John  didn't  have 
the  bag.  He  was  seen  at  the  station  without  it.  And  he 
went  back  to  Boston  without  it.  For  some  unaccount 
able  reason  he  lost  it  or  he  threw  it  away." 

"  He  couldn't  have  lost  it  and  he  wouldn't  have  thrown 
it  away.  He  hid  it  somewhere  and  got  it  afterward.  He 
knows  that  patch  of  woods  as  nobody  else  does.  You 
told  me  so  yourself." 

But  this,  as  she  said  it,  she  did  not  believe.      To  her 


526  THE    BLACK   DROP 

also,  the  loss  of  the  thing  was  a  threatening  mystery. 
Only,  at  this  point,  it  was  chiefly  of  importance  that  her 
man  should  keep  his  nerve.  If  he  lost  that,  he  was 
doomed,  and  she  had  the  insight  to  see  that  the  very  force 
and  charm  of  him  were  the  effect  of  a  make-up  which,  if 
it  got  jangled  in  this  delicate  business  of  playing  the 
devil,  might  leave  him  stripped  and  shivering  in  a  world 
he  could  no  longer  beguile  nor  fight. 

"  But  concede  it,"  she  said,  stroking  his  hand,  the  beau 
tiful  hand  his  mother  loved.  "  Suppose  it's  turned  over  to 
the  Department,  what  then?  Are  you  the  only  one  im 
plicated?" 

"  No,"  said  Charles,  taking  momentary  heart  again, 
in  a  violence  of  self- justification.  "  By  God,  I'm  not !  " 

"  I  should  say  not.  Think  who  is  implicated.  Run 
over  the  names  in  those  papers.  If  you've  forgotten,  let 
me  tell  you." 

She  began,  but  he  stopped  her  in  so  sharp  a  haste 
that  she  laughed  and  told  him  his  nerves  were  getting  the 
better  of  him.  He  was  all  on  edge.  Why  shouldn't  she 
name  those  names?  Nobody  could  hear. 

"  No  matter  whether  they  can  or  not,"  he  reminded  her 
violently.  "  Don't  repeat  them,  that's  all." 

"  Well,"  said  she,  "  I  won't.  But  if  you're  hauled  up, 
a  few  others  are  going  to  be,  you  know,  and  some  very 
pretty  edifices  are  going  to  totter.  You  won't  go  down 
alone,  which  means  you  won't  go  down  at  all." 

He  took  heart  and  was  ashamed  of  his  apprehension. 
But  whenever  they  talked  on  these  things,  it  always 
came  to  this :  his  need  of  her.  She  was,  he  told  her,  his 
right  hand.  For  now  he  had  begun  to  forget  Helen. 

Elsa  left  him  and  brought  her  little  chair  near  him,  and, 
moved  by  the  oneness  of  their  aims  and  her  soft  sympathy, 


327 

he  told  her  for  the  first  time  how  he  had  been  dogged  by 
the  grotesque  follower  in  the  cape  and  hat,  and  how  the 
most  disquieting  part  of  it  was  the  speed  with  which  the 
creature  got  about  from  place  to  place.  For  he  would 
see  him  at  one  street  corner  and,  going  on,  meet  him  at 
another,  and  the  fellow  could  not  possibly  have  had  time 
to  get  there.  She  was  enormously  interested. 

"  But  what  do  you  do  ?  "  she  asked. 

"Nothing.     Walk  along." 

"  Why  don't  you  nab  him  and  hand  him  over?  " 

"  That's  it.  Even  if  I  nabbed  him  —  I  couldn't  have, 
so  far  —  how  do  I  dare  to  hand  him  over  when  I  don't 
know  what  he's  seen,  what  he  knows?  " 

"  Of  course."  She  was  grave  again.  "  Stupid  of 
me.  I  was  nodding  that  time.  But  he  may  be  just  dotty. 
I  don't  quite  see  why  it  upsets  you  so." 

"  He  isn't  dotty,"  said  Charles.  "  There's  a  purpose 
in  it.  And  it  doesn't  upset  me,  in  a  way.  That  is,  I'm 
not  afraid  of  any  personal  violence.  Only  its  queer. 
It's  something  deliberately  planned.  And  when  we're  do 
ing  the  things  we  are,  don't  you  see  we've  got  to  look 
pretty  sharp  if  there's  anything  different  afoot?" 

"Yes,"  said  Elsa  thoughtfully.  "Yes."  Her  air 
quickened  with  the  piquing  interest  of  it.  "  Do  you  sup 
pose,"  she  said,  "he's  out  here  now?"  She  rose,  pressed 
close  against  the  darkened  window  and  looked  down. 
"  No,  there  is  no  one  there." 

"  Elsa,"  he  said,  when  she  came  back  to  him,  "  have  you 
ever  thought  what  we're  going  to  do  if  something  is  sprung 
on  us?  if  we  have  to  get  out  in  a  hurry?  " 

"  No,"  she  said  lightly.  But  she  had.  She  had  even 
considered,  as  she  sat  there  looking  at  his  shadowy  bulk 
in  the  dark,  if,  through  expediency,  through  the  loyalty 


328  THE    BLACK   DROP 

of  partners  in  crime,  she  would  take  him  with  her.  Not 
for  love ;  she  had  known  love,  but  the  spring  of  it  had  died 
in  her  soft  youth.  But  if  she  was  to  live,  she  had  to  sac 
rifice  something  for  the  manner  of  her  living,  perhaps  pay 
heavily.  And,  remote  as  she  seemed  from  any  yearning 
for  human  ties,  she  did  find  it  an  ill  thing  to  live  alone. 
In  that  moment  she  made  up  her  mind  he  might,  in 
certain  circumstances,  go  with  her. 

"What  should  you  say,"  she  began  slowly,  "  to  a  job  in 
Mexico?  " 

"  Mexico?  "  he  repeated. 

"  Yes." 

" You've  thought  of  it  then?  you  realize  we  may  have 
to  get  out  of  here?  " 

"I  know  things  are  going  to  happen  mighty  fast,  from 
now  on.  Don't  you?  " 

He  knew  it,  but  he  did  not  answer  her. 

"  War  is  to  be  declared  in  the  spring." 

"  Yes,"  he  confirmed  her,  "  it's  got  to  come." 

"  And  of  course,  if  nothing  happens  to  shake  us  up,  we 
stay  right  here  on  the  job.  Obstruction,  that's  what  the 
Voice'U  stand  for,  crying  up  Germany,  crying  down  the 
chances  of  the  Allies.  And  ours  —  for  by  that  time  it'll 
mean  our  chances,  too.  And  there'll  be  some  nice  little 
scientific  jobs  on  hand.  We've  got  to  trip  up  the  army, 
somehow.  If  not  by  keeping  'em  downhearted,  then  by  dis 
ease  —  and  worse." 

At  that  moment  he  thought  he  saw  Helen  before  him  in 
a  light  —  not  a  bright  light,  but  something  soft,  sufficient 
to  disclose  her  —  and  she  stood  in  front  of  the  other  wo 
man  and  blotted  her  out.  It  is  difficult  to  tell  just  how  this 
similitude  appeared  to  him.  It  was  not  of  the  opacity  of 
mortal  things  nor  was  it  a  blazing  vision,  but  it  was  gently 


THE    BLACK   DROP 

revealing,  and  it  was  Helen.  He  drew  his  breath  sharply, 
almost  like  a  cry,  and  Elsa  came  to  him  and  laid  her  hand 
on  his  shoulder.  And  as  she  came  the  wraith  of  the  other 
woman  was  gone,  in  some  way  he  could  not  follow,  and 
left  him  staring  at  the  dusk  where,  it  seemed  now,  she 
could  not  have  been. 

"What  is  it?"  Elsa  was  asking. 

He  put  up  his  hand  and  lifted  hers  from  his  shoulder. 

"  Don't,"  he  said,  "  don't." 

So  she  left  him  and  sat  down  opposite  and  waited,  and 
the  first  sign  that  he  had  got  hold  of  himself  again  was  that 
he  gave  a  little  moved  laugh. 

"  Queer,"  he  said,  "  queer.  I  don't  believe  I  am  very 
fit." 

"  You're  jumpy,"  said  she.  "  I'm  not  sure  but  a  job 
out  of  the  country  would  be  the  best  thing  for  you." 

But  he  wanted  to  ask  her  something  that  had  not,  until 
the  wraith  of  Helen  appeared  in  the  room,  ever  occurred 
to  him. 

"  Elsa,"  he  said,  "  you're  different  from  any  other  wo 
man  I  ever  saw." 

She  laughed,  whole-heartedly  it  seemed,  yet  that  might 
have  been  the  adroitness  of  it. 

"  I  should  hope  I  did  seem  different,"  she  said.  "  You've 
led  me  to  suppose  so." 

He  went  on,  not  so  much  to  her  as  absorbed  in  the  puzzle 
of  it. 

"What  you  said  just  now,  about  the  men,  about  disease, 
you  know  —  I  can't  imagine  a  woman's  saying  a  thing 
like  that  and  not  appearing  to  care." 

"  You  know  about  those  things.  You  know  I  know. 
They're  commonplaces  to  us  both."  She  was  trying  so 
to  keep  the  desperate  hardness  of  her  purpose  out  of  her 


330  THE   BLACK   DROP 

voice  that  one  might  have  said  she  spoke  without  thought, 
carelessly.  "  We've  been  over  these  things  together.  Why, 
man,  that's  what  we're  doing.  It's  what  we're  hired  to  do.  " 

"  But,"  he  repeated  stupidly,  "  you  don't  seem  to  care." 

Now  she  did  laugh  with  unfeigned  mirth. 

"  That  is,"  she  said,  "  you  want  me  to  play  the  old 
game,  —  keep  on  doing  the  things,  but  lament  over  them 
and  be  womanly  while  I  do  it.  You'd  like  to  believe  I 
don't  half  realize  the  value  of  it  all." 

"  I  don't  say  that.     Only — you're  different." 

"Well?  "  she  said.  She  got  up  and  stood  in  front  of 
him,  so  close  that  he  imagined  he  breathed  in  the  warmth 
of  her  body  and  guessed  at  its  trembling.  "  If  I  wasn't 
different,  could  I  do  it?  If  I  hadn't  shed  a  good  many 
skins,  should  I  be  what  I  am?  " 

He  cried  out  with  delight  in  her  and  caught  her  to  him. 
And  she  stayed,  to  persuade  him  by  the  warmth  and  frag 
rance  of  her.  The  picture  she  had,  by  one  stroke,  painted 
for  him  caught  his  fancy :  the  sinuous  guile  and  evil  of 
the  world,  shedding  its  skin  to  emerge  more  shining  and 
more  bright.  His  brain  leaped  to  the  fancy  and  threw 
him  words,  half  remembered,  to  bedeck  it,  "  That  running 
brook  of  horror  on  the  ground  "  —  who  had  said  that  or 
something  like  it?  But  it  was  not  horror  to  him,  this 
vision  of  the  snake  of  evil.  It  was  the  more  enchanting 
in  that  it  had  escaped  from  bounds  of  dull  virtues  and 
denials,  and  slipped  across  the  earth  of  Eden  to  coil  in 
the  inmost  heart  of  man. 

"  A  snake !  "  he  cried.  "  That's  what  you  are.  Darl 
ing  —  "  and  there  he  paused  because  more  words  came  rush 
ing,  and  he  remembered  what  had  been  said  of  all  snake- 
women  of  all  time  —  -  "  serpent  of  old  Nile." 

She  laughed.     Yet  underneath  her  laughter,  she  knew 


THE    BLACK   DROP  331 

she  was  not  the  strange  exotic  devil  his  senses  found  her, 
and  that  her  passion  of  the  moment  was  as  premeditated 
as  her  plans.  But  at  all  costs  he  must  be  kept.  How 
ever  he  had  to  hesitate  or  interrogate,  whatever  witch's 
broth  of  passion  he  might  demand  from  her,  he  must  not 
escape.  Too  much  depended  on  him,  his  nerve,  his  calm 
ness  of  discretion.  At  points,  indeed,  he  was  stupid. 
She  had  found  it  out.  They  had  all  discovered  it  in  a 
measure,  but  too  late,  or  they  might  not  have  trusted 
him  entirely.  But  now  he  was  inside  the  black  circle,  and 
there  he  must  stay.  He  sat  musing  on  her  and  the  picture 
she  had  given  him.  Now  he  could  account  for  her,  the 
guile,  the  coldness  and  the  weaving  charm.  She  was  not 
pure  woman.  She  belonged  to  the  other  world  of  those 
who  bewitched  and  held  and  poisoned,  too,  perhaps,  under 
whose  gliding  length  the  herbs  of  ruth  lay  withered,  against 
whom  the  gardens  of  life  are  defended,  yet  who  reign  there 
unseen.  She  was  craft  and  power  and  swiftness,  and 
if  there  was  venom  under  her  fangs  it  would  never 
be  for  him.  He  was  not  even  apprehensive  now,  though 
there  was  still  the  loss  of  the  papers  and  the  foolish  men 
ace  of  his  grotesque  follower.  For  whatever  happened, 
the  snake  could  glide  by  unseen  ways  and  she  would  take 
him  with  her. 

When  he  went  home  that  night,  he  was  not  dogged,  and 
that  also  steadied  him.  But  on  the  way  suddenly  the 
strangeness  of  that  vision  of  Helen  came  to  him,  as  if  the 
cold  air  brought  her,  and  he  walked  past  his  door  and  on 
to  hers  and  stood  opposite,  on  the  other  side  of  the  street, 
and  looked  up  at  its  dark  windows.  He  hardly  knew  why 
he  did  it.  He  most  assuredly  did  not  want  the  windows 
bright  for  him.  The  little  snake  which  was  Elsa  was 
coiled  up  in  what  he  would  have  called  his  heart.  Only 


332  THE    BLACK   DROP 

the  vision  of  Helen  had  been  so  unaccountable. 
But  he  dismissed  it  and  went  back  home,  and  slept  that 
night  securely,  with  a  curiously  pleased  sense  of  safety 
and  possession  now  that  he  could  think  of  the  little  snake. 
Helen,  in  her  bed,  was  not  sleeping.  She  had  gone  there 
early  because  the  strange  things  of  her  later  life  had  come 
upon  her  as  they  did  sometimes,  in  a  dark,  flying  cloud, 
and  she  could  not  bear  even  Jessie's  company.  And  there 
she  had  lain,  hour  after  hour,  calling  upon  her  husband, 
whether  his  soul  she  did  not  know,  but  the  inner,  invisible 
part  of  him,  as  God  saw  it,  beseeching  him  to  leave  the 
ways  of  darkness  and  return. 


XXXII 

CHARLES  was  having  respite  from  the  pranks  of  his 
grotesque  follower  because  Bailey,  Finch  and  Brennan 
were  simply  too  busy  on  another  tack:  enthusiastically 
busy,  too,  for  they  believed  they  had  attained  their  end. 
And  the  result  of  their  work  reached  him  in  a  big  package, 
due  at  this  time.  Charles  came  in  —  it  was  three  days 
after  Adler  had  been  spirited  away  from  Grasslands  and 
he  had  heard  no  word  of  it  —  received  the  package  from 
the  blonde  chatelaine  with  the  smile  she  loved  while  she  hope 
fully  wondered  if  it  were  hers  alone  and  went  on  to  his 
room.  His  letters  were  on  the  desk,  awaiting  him,  a  neat 
pile  with  a  telegram  on  top.  He  took  off  his  hat  and  coat  and 
opened  the  telegram,  to  stare,  mutter  a  bewildered  curse 
or  two  and  stare  again.  It  was  from  New  York,  from  the 
Fritz  he  had  left  in  charge  at  Grasslands,  and  it  told  him 
in  guarded  language  that,  since  the  gentleman  staying  at 
the  house  had  disappeared,  they  two,  the  man  and  wife, 
had  not  felt  easy  and  had  left.  The  gentleman  had  dis 
appeared  :  he  sat  with  the  paper  in  his  hand  dwelling  on 
these  four  words.  His  man  and  woman  had  run  away 
consistently  enough,  for  they  had  just  been  paid.  They 
were  of  no  importance.  But  the  gentleman  had  dis 
appeared.  He  knew  what  that  meant,  the  only  thing  it 
could  mean.  Adler  had  been  taken  and  taken  from  Grass 
lands.  Where  did  that  leave  him?  He  tore  the  telegram 
into  bits,  threw  them  into  the  basket  and  sat  there  holding 
down  his  quivering  nerves.  Slighter  terrors  stabbed  at 

333 


334  THE    BLACK   DROP 

him  beside  the  greater  one.  The  telegram,  for  instance : 
fools,  to  have  sent  that  when  they  could  have  written  him 
as  well.  Or  they  could  have  telephoned  at  once  and  he 
would  have  gone  down  to  hear  the  evil  tale. 

Mechanically  he  tore  open  the  package  before  him 
because  the  sanity  of  composure  lay  in  doing  something, 
and  at  the  first  cartoon,  with  its  accompanying  inscrip 
tion,  he  did  blench  with  something  like  horror.  For  this, 
he  found,  in  the  instant  of  turning  them  over,  was  another 
continued  series,  and  it  was,  in  verse,  an  epic  story  of 
the  kidnapping  of  Adler.  The  artists  had  laid  themselves 
out  with  a  gaiety  of  resolve  which  had  resulted  in  something 
so  spirited,  so  audacious,  that  Charles,  the  newspaper 
instinct  triumphing,  for  a  moment,  over  his  sick  soul,  saw 
the  money  value  of  the  thing,  and  cursed  them  anew  because 
he  could  not  use  it.  There  was  Adler  in  the  security  of  the 
room  at  Grasslands,  with  his  pipe  and  his  glass,  and  there 
was  Adler  leaving  the  door  of  Grasslands  and  the  kid 
nappers  ready  to  force  him  into  the  car.  And  one  of  them 
was  Charles's  follower  in  the  cloak  and  hat.  The  other 
two  were  masked.  That,  Brennan  concluded,  added  to 
their  mystery.  The  face  of  Adler  himself  was  half  averted 
because  Brennan,  never  having  seen  him,  had  to  rely  on 
Bailey  for  descriptive  data ;  but  the  wry  mouth  was  un 
mistakable  and  the  enormous  ear  escaping  from  the  shock 
of  hair.  There  was  the  transfer  of  the  prisoner  from  one 
car  to  another,  on  a  lonely  road,  and  his  delivery  to  a 
frowning  building  where  uniformed  officials  received  him. 
Brennan  had  had  to  draw  on  fancy  here,  but  the  scene  was 
right  enough.  It  told  the  story.  But  what  entirely 
floored  Charles,  like  a  blow  in  the  face,  was  the  figure  in 
the  cape  and  hat.  So  they  had  hatched  up  that  job, 
the  young  devils.  And  Bailey,  in  his  galloping  verse, 


THE    BLACK   DROP  335 

told  their  story  gaily.  The  three  sleuths,  he  called  them ; 
and  in  another  cartoon  Brennan  had  drawn  them  standing 
in  a  line,  grinning,  and  in  another  filing  into  a  photog 
rapher's,  each  in  his  cape  and  hat.  This  last  was 
labelled  The  Composite.  So  that  was  the  photograph, 
still  standing  on  his  desk.  It  was  a  childish  sort  of  farce, 
and  he  had  let  it  move  him.  He  brought  his  hand  down 
on  the  pile  of  papers  with  a  force  that  hurt  it  and  left 
them  undented.  That  was  it,  he  thought,  a  symbol  of  the 
disproportioned  waste  and  general  devilishness  of  life. 
He  had  squandered  his  nerve  on  these  three  fools  who  in 
turn  spent  their  talent  and  their  energies  in  playing  about 
like  mountebanks,  to  whom  the  world  itself,  that  gigantic 
market-place  and  battlefield,  was  itself  a  playground. 
And  he  had  been  moved  by  them.  He  had  trembled  lest  the 
childish  machinery  they  had  set  whirling  about  him  was 
something  to  stretch  out  a  claw  and  draw  him  in,  or  that 
a  broken  band  from  it  would  fly  and  strike  him.  He  had 
been  a  fool.  And  yet  had  he?  Wasn't  the  grotesque 
intent  of  them  merely  the  index  of  a  purpose?  Were  they 
like  the  Fool  of  the  Fool's  Revenge,  playing  the  mounte 
bank  for  desperate  design?  And  mustn't  he  perhaps  fear 
them  the  more,  instead  of  less,  in  that  their  scheme  looked 
light  as  air?  for  it  might  well  be  the  air  that  fans  a  flame 
to  fury.  For  here  was  the  last  cartoon  of  all :  a  galley, 
the  oars  idle,  and  in  it  the  three  in  their  fantastic  garb 
and  over  them  the  explanatory  legend,  Kipling's  "  Will 
vou  never  let  us  go?  "  Charles  himself  was  the  potentate, 
his  robes  heavy  with  embroidery,  his  crown  a  circlet  rayed 
with  gems.  He  was  looking  down  upon  them  so  arro 
gantly  you  actually  heard  the  question  issuing  from  his 
haughty  mouth:  "You  threaten  me?"  From  the  lips 
of  the  cockiest,  most  impudent  of  them,  flew  the  answer: 


336  THE    BLACK   DROP 

"Yes.  Who  was  hiding  Adler?  "  This  figure  was  a 
masterpiece.  Brennan,  in  an  amazing  line  or  two,  had 
done  Bailey  to  the  life. 

That  was  it:  they  were  threatening  him,  bidding  him 
take  heed,  since  they  knew  this  one,  at  least,  of  his  activi 
ties.  They  had,  by  some  chance,  ill-starred  for  him, 
picked  up  a  crucial  fact.  It  was  in  their  possession,  to 
be  sold  or  given  away;  but  first  of  all  to  be  offered  him 
to  buy  their  freedom.  And  while  he  was  staring  that 
certainty  in  the  face  the  blonde  chatelaine  asked  from  the 
next  room  if  Mr.  Tracy  were  there.  Mr.  Bailey  was 
calling.  Charles  answered  on  the  instant: 

"  Mr.  Tracy  is  not  here  at  the  moment.  Ask  Mr. 
Bailey  to  wait  while  we  look  him  up." 

He  gathered  the  cartoons  and  verse  together  and  made 
them  into  a  neat  bundle,  stopping  only  to  swear  at  the 
knotted  tape,  throw  it  away  and  tie  them  up  with  string. 
Then  he  slipped  the  package  under  his  letters,  laid  the 
pile  on  the  top  of  his  desk  and  called  up  the  next  room. 
Mr.  Tracy  had  been  found  and  Mr.  Bailey  might  come  in. 
And  when  Bailey  opened  the  door,  Charles  was  whistling 
in  a  musical  undertone  and  reaching  for  his  letters.  These 
he  proceeded  to  open  as  they  talked. 

"Hullo,"  said  he,  with  the  utmost  cheerfulness.  "I 
hoped  you'd  be  in.  Got  me  some  stuff?  " 

Bailey,  when  he  stepped  into  the  room,  had  looked 
highly  excited.  He  knew  it  by  the  feelings  within  him  and 
could  not,  hard  as  he  pressed  himself,  assume  a  more 
specious  calm.  His  pink  cheeks  were  red  and  his  mouth 
wore  an  interrogatorv  smile.  "  Queer  state  of  things, 
isn't  it?  "  This  was  what  his  look  said.  "  Well,  we've  got 
to  talk  it  out  together,  and  it'll  be  queerer  when  we're 
through."  But  when  he  found  Charles  glancing  at  him 


THE    BLACK   DROP  337 

so  casually  and  so  kindly,  and  opening  letters  with  a 
rapid  hand,  he  did  feel  suddenly  crestfallen,  and  looked 
that  also,  giving  Charles  a  quick  satisfaction  because  it 
assured  him  of  being,  momentarily  at  least,  on  top. 

"  No,"  said  Bailey,  fumbling  with  the  doubt  of  the  situa 
tion.  "  The  fact  is,  I  left  our  stuff  last  night  after  you 
had  gone." 

"  Odd,"  said  Charles.     "  I  haven't  seen  it." 

"  That's  it,"  said  Bailey,  still  more  depressed.  For 
if  Charles  had  not  read  their  argument,  then  the  play 
could  not  be  played  out  as  he  had  planned.  He  couldn't 
spring  the  climax  of  the  third  act  because  the  necessary 
elucidations  hadn't  led  up  to  it.  "  That's  it,  on  the  top 
of  your  desk." 

He  ventured  to  pull  it  forward  to  assure  himself  also. 
But  at  the  moment  of  touching  it,  his  face  changed.  The 
old  imps,  veiled  for  a  moment,  were  again  dancing  in  his 
eyes.  He  was  approaching  his  third  act  after  all. 

"  Ah,  to  be  sure,"  said  Charles.  "  Well,  I  won't  stop 
to  open  them  now.  They're  up  to  the  same  standard, 
I've  no  doubt.  You  always  are,  you  fellows.  How  do 
you  manage  it?  Strike  twelve  every  time?" 

"  Spectacular  of  us,"  said  Bailey,  with  a  grin.  "  No 
way  to  tell  folks  the  time  of  day  though.  And  that's 
really  what  we're  after.  That's  what  I'm  after  now,  Mr. 
Tracy.  We  want  to  make  a  new  deal.  Begin  over, 
strike  one." 

Charles  was  meeting  him  in  sympathetic  interest. 
Almost,  if  Bailey  had  not  known  how  inevitably  the  steps 
were  leading  to  that  third  act  —  and  he  was  ringing  up 
the  curtain  now — he  would  have  thought  Charles  was 
the  most  ingenuous  and  the  kindliest  of  men. 

"The  fact  is,"  he  said,  —  and  this  was  the  predestined 


338  THE   BLACK   DROP 

entrance  upon  the  third  act.  After  this  there  would  be 
no  returning  —  "  we  want  to  tear  up  our  contracts  with 
you  and  make  a  new  deal." 

"  You?  "  said  Charles,  painfully  surprised,  it  seemed. 
"All  of  you?" 

"  Yes.  Brennan  and  Finch,  too.  I'm  spokesman.  I 
don't  know  why.  They  always  put  their  dirty  work  on 
me.  Yes,  we  want  to  tear  up  our  contracts  and  get  out. 
We've  no  reason  to  give.  We  just  want  to,  that's  all." 

"No  reason?"  asked  Charles,  still  sympathetically,  and 
evidently  looking  chiefly  at  their  side.  "  And  why  the 
deuce  do  you  want  to  do  a  thing  you've  no  reason  for?  " 

"  That's  it,"  said  Bailey  airily.  "  I  suppose  we're  queer 
Dicks ;  but  that's  the  way  we  are.  Erratic,  you  know. 
Temperament.  We  just  want  to  slip  out  of  this  thing 
and  work  on  our  own.  Of  course  if  our  stuff  suited  you 
we'd  love  to  submit  it :  but  not  regularly,  not  as  a  matter 
of  necessity." 

Charles  had  been  looking  at  him  in  pained  and  benevo 
lent  interest.  Now  he  turned  his  eyes  upon  his  desk  and 
sat  drumming  noiselessly  with  one  hand  and  apparently 
thinking  hard.  Bailey,  in  reporting  the  interview  to  the 
others,  confessed  he  never  had  felt  more  equably  suspended 
in  the  air  between  the  beetling  heights  of  two  alternatives. 
On  the  one  side  was  the  green  height  of  freedom,  if  Charles 
could  incredibly  be  persuaded  to  let  them  go.  On  the 
other  loomed  the  steely  cliff  of  denial,  and  between  lay  the 
unplumbed  abyss  of  Charles's  rage.  Over  this  the  exceed 
ingly  tenuous  cord  of  Charles's  fictitious  composure  held 
him,  and  if  it  broke,  in  what  cranny  would  his  bones  be 
found  bleaching  by  Finch  and  Brennan  when  they  came 
to  hunt  him  up?  And  after  all  he  wasn't  sure  Charles 
had  seen  the  explanatory  cartoons.  He  had  only  guessed 


THE    BLACK   DROP  339 

it,  and  the  way  might  not  have  been  prepared.  But 
Charles  looked  suddenly  up  with  his  flashing  smile,  that 
sudden  lighting  of  his  face  which  was  always  unexpected 
enough  to  make  you  catch  your  breath,  it  had  such  beauty. 

"  Bailey,"  he  said,  "  I'm  going  to  be  square  with  you. 
I'm  awfully  sorry.  I'm  —  I'm  hurt,  if  that  isn't  too  soft 
a  way  to  put  it.  I  thought  we  should  work  in  together 
and  go  on  working  and  —  but  no  matter.  Of  course,  if 
you  want  to  go  you  must." 

Bailey  said  afterward  to  the  boys  that  Charles  was 
so  convincing  he  wondered,  for  the  instant,  whether  they 
did  want  to  go,  whether  Adler's  abduction  and  the  apos 
tasy  of  the  Voice  were  not  idle  dreams  he  had  fished  out 
of  his  own  silly  fancy.  He  had  to  hold  on  to  himself,  he 
said.  He  had  to  put  wax  in  his  ears  to  shut  out  the 
persuasions  of  the  siren  Charles.  Brennan  made  a  big 
drawing  of  it,  as  they  listened,  Charles  sitting  on  a  rock, 
doing  the  siren  act,  fitted  out  with  harp  and  floating 
tresses  and  the  sea  waves  dashing  at  his  feet.  But  Bailey 
did  shut  up  his  mind  and  pass  this  moment  chiefly,  after 
the  first  glance  at  such  ingenuous  kindliness,  by  not  look 
ing  at  Charles.  He  plunged  into  his  pocket  and  produced 
the  contracts. 

"  Here  they  are,"  said  he,  in  breathless  dread  of  himself, 
"  the  three  of  them.  I'm  commissioned,  with  your  leave,  to 
tear  'em  up." 

"  Hm !  hm !  "  Charles  hummed,  not  unmusically,  to  him 
self,  as  if,  though  the  decisive  word  had  been  uttered,  he 
were  still  sadly  thoughtful.  He  went  to  the  safe,  opened 
it,  sought  a  moment,  again  considering,  put  his  hand  on 
a  packet  of  papers,  withdrew  three  and  came  back  with  them 
to  the  desk.  He  spread  them  out,  face  uppermost,  one 
upon  the  other. 


340  THE    BLACK   DROP 

"  There  you  are,"  he  said. 

Bailey  now  could  hardly  believe  in  his  good  luck. 

"  Shall  I  tear  up  these?  "  he  asked. 

Charles  gave  the  ones  on  his  desk  a  little  flip  toward  him. 

"  All  of  them,"  he  said,  still  regretfully.  "  The  whole 
business,  if  that's  what  you  want." 

And  though  his  forbearance  and  courtesy  were  somehow 
making  Bailey  ashamed  of  himself  and  inclined  to  get 
angry,  in  self-defense,  because  he  was  ashamed,  he  fell 
upon  the  papers  and  tore  right  and  left.  When  they  were 
in  inconsiderable  pieces,  he  scooped  up  what  had  fallen  on 
the  desk  and  carried  them  in  his  hands  to  the  basket,  and 
nothing  was  left. 

"There,  by  George!"  said  he.  "Mr.  Tracy,  I'm 
awfully  obliged  to  you."  He  could  hardly  help  saying 
instead :  "  It's  awfully  decent  of  you."  He  had  to  keep 
reminding  himself :  "  But  he  is  pro-German  and  we've 
caught  him  and  pushed  him  and  bullied  him  and  he  can't 
help  himself." 

Yet  such  is  the  force  of  a  faultless  behavior  that  he  knew 
Charles  was,  to  all  seeming,  coming  out  on  top. 

"  I  want  you  to  be  suited,"  said  Charles  bluffly. 
"Heavens,  man!  you  don't  suppose  I'd  keep  you  if  you 
don't  choose  to  stay?  " 

He  held  out  his  hand. 

But  Bailey,  suddenly  looking  in  his  eyes,  saw  something 
there,  something  his  own  eye  told  him  to  match  up  Avith 
the  specious  words,  if  he  really  was  going  to  understand 
Charles.  And  this  was,  he  told  the  boys,  that  Charles  was 
really  "  mad  as  ten  devils."  So  he  ignored  the  hand 
which,  in  the  light  of  that  glance,  suddenly  looked  to  him 
the  hand  of  one  who  was  not  an  honest  man,  and  went  away 
without  a  word. 


THE    BLACK   DROP  341 

Charles  stood  perfectly  still  until  Bailey  had  had  time 
to  cross  the  outer  office ;  then  he  drew  a  quick  breath,  and 
then  another.  It  was  not  as  if  he  were  inviting  them, 
but  the  breaths  had  him  in  their  power  and  were  shaking 
him.  He  stepped  to  the  side  of  the  room  where  there  was 
a  moderately  heavy  chair,  lifted  it  and  threw  it  so  that  it 
met  its  doom  against  the  wall  and  lay  shattered,  one  leg 
gone.  Then  he  returned  to  his  desk,  and  was  absorbedly 
busy  when  the  chatelaine  knocked  and  entered.  She  was 
interrogative  and  wild-eyed. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Tracy,"  she  said.  "  You 
haven't  hurt  yourself?  " 

"  No,"  said  Charles  pleasantly.  "  What  made  you  think 
I  had?" 

"  I  heard  a  noise,"  said  she,  and  ended  blankly,  "  Why, 
just  look  at  that  chair!  " 

"  It  fell,"  said  Charles,  still  pleasantly.  "  No,  there 
wasn't  any  noise,  not  in  here.  Probably  in  the  street." 

That  night,  when  Bailey,  Finch  and  Brennan  were 
celebrating  their  new  freedom  over  the  excellent  rarebit 
Bailey  served  in  his  attic  room,  and  the  rejoicings  were 
not  loud  but  almost  prayerfully  subdued,  life  seemed  a 
thing  of  such  grotesque  complexity,  Brennan  remembered. 

"  But  you  said,"  he  remarked,  "  Tracy  told  you  he 
hadn't  opened  our  stuff  and  then  you  knew  he  had." 

"  I  saw  the  string,"  said  Bailey.  "  Mine  was  a  nice 
green  tape  and  that  was  all  in  a  mess  in  the  basket.  I 
saw  it.  And  he'd  tied  'em  up  again  with  rough  manila, 
and  there  was  a  bit  of  that  in  the  basket,  too." 

"  But  it  might  not  have  been  he,"  said  Finch.  "  It 
might  have  been  that  peroxide  Peri  at  the  gate." 

"  Yes,"  said  Bailey  modestly.  "  Only  it  wasn't,  that's 
all." 


JOHN,  in  spite  of  the  looming  anxiety  which  was  Charles 
and  the  unbelievable  disaster  of  Helen's  going  back  to  him, 
found  himself  night  and  day  traveling  a  new  road  where 
Jessie  was  the  only  other  wayfarer.  The  most  curious 
thing  had  happened  to  them  in  their  stumbling  into  this 
lonely,  superlatively  lovely  road.  It  seemed  like  a  road 
other  people  had  known,  each  once  upon  a  time,  and  then 
had  lost  either  because  they  didn't  stay  wise  enough  to 
keep  it  or  never  had  guessed,  when  they  had  it,  how  lucky 
they  were  and  also  how  easy  it  was  to  miss  a  guidepost 
here  and  there.  It  was  entirely  different  from  every  other 
road.  The  sun  upon  it  was  brighter  and  the  shade  more 
delicately  green.  The  leaves  trembled,  in  a  wonderful  way, 
and  the  fruits  that  dangled  low  for  comfort  and  high  for 
daring,  were  all  honeyed  fragrance  and  melting  to  the  taste. 
John  and  Jessie  had  entered  on  the  entrancing  pastime 
of  going  on  and  on,  and  were  certain  to  go  on  forever, 
because  they  knew  exactly  how  lucky  they  were ;  they  had 
been  clever  enough  to  detect  at  once  the  greatest  beauty 
about  the  road,  which  was  that  it  had  no  end.  And  its 
name  was  love. 

When  John  could  intermit  wondering  about  Jessie,  he 
wondered  about  himself.  He  recognized  himself,  in  this 
glass  of  his  reflections,  as  different.  Every  step  on  the 
road  took  him  forward  into  a  new  solicitude,  a  new  author 
ity.  He  had  become  potentially  the  head  of  a  family, 
and  light,  full  flood,  seemed  to  be  pouring  in  on  him. 

342 


THE    BLACK   DROP  343 

The  first  thing  he  did  by  way  of  confirming  this  freedom 
of  his  bondage,  was  to  disobey  Jessie,  with  an  unquestion 
ing  assumption  that  he  knew  what  was  best  for  them,  as 
travellers  on  the  enchanted  road,  and  go  in  to  tell  grand- 
sir  all  about  it.  He  chose  the  early  evening  when  grandsir 
was  less  likely  to  be  tired,  and  because  it  was  news  not  so 
well  suited  to  the  light  of  day.  The  stars  were  in  it,  and 
dusk  and  sunset  clouds  and  all  the  mysteries,  and  night 
herself:  for  when  you  came  to  mysteries,  she  was  the 
mother  of  them.  By  day,  John  had  learned,  you  were 
likely  to  be  misled  by  your  own  conceit ;  but  when  you 
looked  up  at  the  stars  or  the  veil  that  covered  them, 
you  caught  just  an  echo  of  the  song  the  morning  stars 
sang  together  and  you  might  croak  a  note  or  two  yourself. 
John  was  looking  now  with  the  poet's  eye,  and  his  mother, 
noting  the  exalted  brilliance  of  his  face,  thought  back  to 
the  hope  Doctor  Landis  had  given  him  and  concluded,  in 
one  of  her  tender  remorses,  that  perhaps  none  of  them, 
well  as  they  thought  they  knew  it,  had  ever  really  entered 
into  John's  feeling  about  his  infirmity. 

This  evening  he  found  grandsir  reading  at  his  table. 

"  One  of  dad's  books ! "  John  remarked,  in  extreme  sur 
prise,  when  grandsir  had  closed  it  and  told  him  to  sit 
down.  "  Grandsir,  you  don't  read  'em  all,  do  you?  " 

"  Why,  yes,"  said  grandsir.  He  rose  and,  helping  him 
self  a  part  of  the  way  by  one  hand  on  the  table,  came 
round  to  the  fire.  "  Of  course  I  do." 

"  Well,  you  know,"  said  John,  with  the  frankness  of 
his  daytime  manner,  "  they're  rotten  books." 

Grandsir  couldn't  afford  to  answer  that.  He  had  no 
particular  claim,  he  thought,  on  the  intellectual  life. 
There  were  a  few  things  he  did  know,  these  not  as  a  critic 
but,  he  quoted,  by  the  light  of  natur'.  He  contented  him- 


344  THE    BLACK   DROP 

self  now  with  a  quotation  Norris  was  fond  of  using  at 
exigencies  when  middle-age  found  itself  at  a  discount: 

" '  O  gentle  boy  with  smooth  white  brow, 
I  would  I  were  cocksure  as  thou ! ' ' 

"  Oh,  that's  all  right,"  said  John,  who  had  heard  it 
before.  "  My  brow  ain't  so  very  smooth  and  it  ain't  so 
very  white  —  not  so  you'd  notice  it  —  but  they  are  rotten 
books,  and  don't  you  forget  it." 

"  Well,"  said  grandsir,  "  I  suppose  there  are  fashions 
in  books.  These  may  not  suit  your  particular  period. 
You  don't  need  to  read  'em.  But  when  you're  as  old  as 
I  am,  maybe  you'll  like  to  run  'em  over  and  find  out  for 
youself  just  what  sort  of  a  chap  your  father  was.  Maybe 
you  will.  I  don't  know." 

"  You  see,"  said  John,  still  in  his  capacity  of  critic, 
"  they're  sort  of  mid-Victorian." 

"  It  wasn't  a  bad  thing  to  be  mid- Victorian,"  said  grand- 
sir  tolerantly.  But.  what  was  he  tolerant  of,  mid-Victo- 
rianism  or  John? 

"  No !  oh,  no !  There  were  some  mighty  fine  old  duffers 
along  there;  but  just  now  they  seem  terrible  thin." 

"  I  suppose,"  said  grandsir,  "  the  reason  I  read  'em  is 
chiefly  because  I  want  to  understand  my  son's  mind.  I  like 
to  get  inside  it  and  see  it  work.  It  shows  me  what  sort 
of  a  son  I've  got." 

"  Oh,  dad's  all  right,"  said  John,  his  own  mind  giving  a 
flirt  now  and  flying  off  to  Jessie.  "  Only,  that's  just  it. 
He  gets  his  characters  out  of  his  mind.  They're  all  dad 
himself,  one  way  or  another,  dad  as  a  father,  as  a  grand 
father,  as  a  college  girl,  a  plumber,  a  teetotaler.  They 
don't  rise  and  walk,  grandsir.  They  just  plain  don't. 
And  they're  as  much  you  and  me  as  they  are  dad. 


THE    BLACK   DROP  345 

Don't  you  know  we  three  talk  alike  and  think  alike?  We 
are  alike.  And  so  are  dad's  characters.  They're  a  kind 
of  a  Tracy  exhibit." 

"  I've  got  something  in  my  desk  I  should  like  to  show 
you."  Grandsir  spoke  with  deliberation,  as  if  he  were 
debating  on  the  wisdom  of  what  he  felt  moved  to  do.  "  It's 
something  your  father's  been  at  work  on  lately,  not,  you'll 
see,  for  publication,  but  because  he's  been  having  a  good 
many  worries,  and  I  have  an  idea  he  thought  he  could  work 
out  of  'em  better  if  he  put  certain  things  down  on  paper. 
You  needn't  tell  him  I  showed  it  to  you.  The  only  reason 
he  brought  it  to  me  was  because  we'd  both  been  fretting 
over  the  same  thing.  Maybe  he  thought  it  might  help 
me  a  little,  too.  You  go  to  my  right  hand  little  drawer 
there.  It's  on  top." 

John  went  to  the  drawer  and  came  back  with  a  thickish 
manuscript. 

"  Read  it,"  said  grandsir.  "  Run  through  it  now  and 
I'll  shut  my  eyes  and  think  about  it.  I  know  it  pretty 
well  by  heart.  Then,  when  you've  finished,  you  can  tell 
me  what  you  think.  If  you  hear  your  father  coming,  just 
chuck  it  back  in  the  drawer.  I  have  an  idea  he'd  feel  a 
little  shy  with  you,  more'n  he  would  with  me,  anyway. 
You  see  I'm  not  intellectual." 

"  The  Politician,"  said  John. 

Then  he  began  to  run  over  it  to  himself,  in  his  quick  habit 
of  taking  in  a  page  at  a  gulp,  the  practised  reader's  way. 
Grandsir  appeared  to  fall  into  what  he  called  a  sog,  and 
John  felt  himself  entirely  alone  with  the  paper.  But 
presently  so  vividly  did  the  thing  impress  him  that  he 
wondered  if  it  were  the  sequence  of  words  he  was  absorbed 
in  or  his  father  himself.  And  suddenly  he  felt  young  and 
foolish  and,  as  it  were,  bereft,  in  the  certainty  that  he 


346  THE    BLACK   DROP 

had  never  known  his  father  at  all.  When  he  came  to  the 
last  page  he  drew  a  deep  breath  and,  as  if  he  had  been 
waiting  for  it,  grandsir's  eyes  came  open  with  a  blink. 

"  Look  here,"  said  John,  "  this  is  perfectly  ripping, 
you  know.  I  didn't  think  he  had  it  in  him." 

"  Just  put  it  back  in  the  drawer,"  said  grandsir,  "  in 
case  he  comes  in." 

When  John  went  back  with  it,  he  stood  there,  rereading 
a  page  or  two ;  but  he  finally  laid  it  in  and  shut  the  drawer 
upon  it. 

"  Well,"  said  grandsir,  when  he  came  back  to  the  fire 
—  and  grandsir  was  rather  maliciously  pleased  to  see 
how  pale  John  looked,  with  brilliant  eyes,  as  if  he  had  been 
startled  out  of  his  carelessness  and  his  calm  —  "  measures 
up  to  the  modern  standard  all  right?  " 

"  Oh,  it's  ripping,"  said  John  again.  "  It's  one  of  the 
great  papers  on  public  events,  the  kind  big  men  used  to 
write,  and  professors  tell  us  to  read  and  mostly  we  don't." 

"  Not  especially  mid-Victorian?  " 

"  O  grandsir,"  said  John,  "  don't  you  tell  me  I'm  a 
chump.  English  like  that  and  straight  thinking  like  that 
isn't  then  or  now.  It  just  belongs  to  all  time,  and  you 
know  it  does.  You  think  I'm  more  or  less  of  a  fool  and 
you're  trying  to  get  a  rise  out  of  me." 

"  No,"  said  grandsir,  "  not  that.  I  never've  tried  to  do 
any  moral  kindergartening  with  you.  Besides,  you're  a 
man  now  like  the  rest  of  us.  But  I've  been  thinking  a 
good  deal  about  your  father  lately,  and  I  rather  wanted 
you  to  think  about  him,  too.  You  see,  John,  since  the  war 
begun,  your  father's  seemed  to  me  what  I  call  the  best  sort 
of  an  American." 

John  nodded.  He  would  not  let  himself  speak  thougli 
he  felt  the  words  flooding,  he  was  so  afraid  grandsir  would 


THE    BLACK    DROP  347 

stop.  But  grandsir  was  absorbed  now  in  saying  at  least 
a  little  of  what  he  had  to  say  —  and  there  was  a  great 
deal  of  it,  more  than  was  likely  ever  to  be  said  —  and  he 
went  on. 

"  You  see  your  father's  had  the  life  of  'most  any  pros 
perous  American.  I  made  money  enough  for  all  of  you 
and  I  guess  there's  enough  to  last  till  the  proletariat  comes 
in  and  chops  off  your  heads.  The  heads  of  your  children, 
rather.  I  put  it  about  then." 

John  gave  a  start  in  his  chair  and  looked  up  at  grand- 
sir,  the  red  flooding  his  face.  His  children !  did  grandsir 
know  about  Jessie?  No,  grandsir  was  only  finding  a 
figure  of  speech,  and  was  going  on,  absorbed  in  his  manner 
of  putting  it. 

"  So  your  father  could  write  just  the  way  he  wanted 
to.  If  he'd  been  poorer,  maybe  he  could  have  written 
better.  I  don't  know.  That's  for  you  clever  heads  to 
find  out.  And  your  father  expected  to  grow  old  like  me 
—  only  let's  hope  he  wouldn't  have  stiffened  up  in  this 
devilish  way  —  and  perhaps  go  abroad  again  and  then 
settle  down  in  the  chimney  corner  and  read  books,  and 
be  kind  of  sorry  he  hadn't  written  better  ones  of  his  own, 
but  not  care  so  much  about  it  after  all  —  because  I  guess 
life  shows  you  in  the  end  it  isn't  any  more  important 
to  write  books  than  it  is  to  do  some  other  things  —  and 
then  the  war  came.  John,  you  must  see  how  the  war's 
changed  things." 

John  nodded,  but  in  his  heart  he  remorsefully  knew  he 
had  not  suspected  it  had  changed  things  for  father,  who 
was  too  old  to  do  anything  of  consequence  and,  like  the  old, 
accepted  it  and  didn't  think  about  it. 

"  If  your  father  had  been  twenty  years  younger,"  said 
grandsir,  "  he'd  have  been  in  it ;  or,  being  as  old  as  he  is 


348  THE   BLACK   DROP 

now,  if  he'd  lived  any  sort  of  public  life  —  politics,  you 
know  —  he'd  be  in  it  now,  hammer  and  tongs.  That's 
what  I  call  the  American  of  it.  There  are  hundreds  of 
mild  sort  of  men  like  your  father  that,  when  such  a  call 
comes,  just  rise  and  act.  And  if  the  call  comes  for  him, 
he'll  rise  and  act,  too,  and  you  won't  know  him,  John. 
And  then'll  be  your  time  to  stand  by  him  and  realize  what 
kind  of  a  chap  your  father  is." 

John  was  staring  at  him  now  from  under  frowning 
brows,  and  he  asked: 

"  You  mean  something,  grandsir.  What  are  you  tell 
ing  me  all  this  for,  if  you  don't  mean  something  by  it? 
What's  he  going  to  do  ?  " 

"  I  want  you,"  said  grandsir  again,  "  to  understand 
what  sort  of  a  man  your  father  is.  He's  head  of  the  fam 
ily,  and  if  anything  comes  up  to  throw  us  on  our  beam 
ends,  we've  got  to  let  him  stay  at  the  helm  and  take  our 
orders  from  him.  That's  all." 

That,  John  knew,  from  old  experience,  was  the  limit  of 
what  he  should  get  out  of  him.  But  as  he  sat  there,  some 
queer  intelligence  began  to  come  alive  in  him,  a  sentiency 
that  crept  along  his  body,  like  apprehension,  and  ended 
in  his  brain.  And  there  it  told  him  something  that  turned 
him  sick  with  a  spiritual  nausea,  a  revolt  against  the  in 
credible  thing  his  mind  had  just  presented  to  him.  It  had 
been,  the  minute  before,  a  point  of  honor  not  to  interro 
gate  grandsir  further,  after  the  finality  of  those  last  words. 
But  the  question  came  rushing  from  his  lips  because  it  was 
so  horrible  a  visitant  within  him  he  could  not  entertain  it 
further. 

"  Grandsir,  did  he  mean  Charles  ?  The  Politician  —  is 
it  Charles?" 

Grandsir   sat   a   moment   in   silence.     Then  he   shifted 


THE    BLACK   DROP  349 

himself  carefully  in  his  chair  and  answered,  with  a  set 
indifference : 

"  The  question  never  came  up  between  us.  I  didn't  ask 
him." 

"  And,"  John  wondered  if  he  wanted  to  add,  "  you 
should  have  copied  our  reticence  and  not  have  asked  me." 

But  John  felt  he  could  not  endure  within  him  the  burn 
ing  of  those  doubts.  He  had  to  push  on. 

"It  sounds  to  me  —  I  didn't  think  of  it  when  I  read  it, 
but  that's  because  it's  so  abstract  —  it's  like  a  big  stu 
dent's  thinking  out  things  in  his  study,  Milton's  prose,  you 
know,  Edmund  Burke  —  it  sounds  like  the  things  I  believe 
about  Charles.  Only  I  couldn't  have  put  'em  so." 

"  You've  said  a  good  deal  yourself  about  Charles,  one 
time  and  another,"  said  grandsir,  with  a  sad  humor. 

"  Yes,  I've  ripped  out  things.  But  I  haven't  said  'em 
like  this.  I  shouldn't  know  how." 

"  No,"  said  grandsir,  reaching,  although  he  was  the 
last  to  know  it,  the  topmost  peak  of  criticism.  "  That's 
because  writing  like  this  comes  out  of  living,  and  your 
father  has  lived  that  way." 

"  But  what's  he  going  to  do  with  it?  "  John  pursued, 
branching  off.  "  If  it's  Charles,  what's  he  going  to 
do?" 

"  Burn  it,  I  should  think,"  said  grandsir.  "  Though 
he  hasn't  said  so." 

"  Burn  it?  not  on  your  life.     I  tell  you  it's  great  prose." 

"But  if  it's  Charles,  could  he  bear  to  do  anything  else? 
Yes,  it's  got  to  be  burned  in  the  end,  —  that  is,  .if  it's 
Charles." 

"  What  d'hc  write  it  for  then?  " 

"  He  didn't  tell  me,"  said  grandsir.  "  But  I  should 
guess  a  man  that  had  the  habit  of  writing  might  feel,  if 


350  THE    BLACK    DROP 

he  was  up  against  something  big  —  and  awful,  too  —  he 
might  take  that  way  of  clarifying  his  mind." 

"  Grandsir,"  said  John,  "  is  dad  up  against  something 
big?  and  is  it  Charles?  " 

"  You  mustn't  ask  me,"  said  grandsir.  "  And  you 
mustn't  ask  him.  Only,  you  stand  by.  That's  what  you 
and  I've  got  to  do,  you  because  you're  young  and  I  be 
cause  I'm  old." 

John  sat,  aghast,  looking  into  the  fire,  the  warm  reality 
of  Jessie  chased,  for  the  moment,  out  of  his  mind. 

"  I'd  like,"  he  said,  "  to  read  one  paragraph  again,  the 
one  about  his  being  an  outlaw." 

"  Yes,"  said  grandsir,  "  read  it.  You  might  read  it  to 
me." 

"  '  He  is,'  "  the  paragraph  ran,  "  '  an  outlaw  from  his 
kind,  because  he  has  repudiated  the  laws  whereby  his  kind 
has  risen  from  ravening  slaughter  to  the  rights  of  men. 
He  does  not  share  in  the  honorable  give  and  take  of  com 
mon  life,  the  plain  rules  humanity  has  brought  with  it, 
step  by  toiling  step,  out  of  primeval  slime.  He  takes,  and 
offers  no  just  equivalent.  He  preys  upon  the  world. 
And,  being  an  outlaw,  he  is  like  all  his  type  in  that  he  shifts 
his  hiding  places.  He  is  in  one  covert  of  vantage  to-day 
and  another  to-morrow.  You  cannot  track  him  down  on 
the  moors  of  violence  because,  by  the  time  you  have  wind 
of  him  there,  he  had  taken  himself  to  the  woods  of  sophis 
try.  Thread  the  woods  after  him,  to  persuade  him  back 
to  the  tents  of  men,  and  he  is  away  upon  the  high  road  to 
the  devil,  assaulting  a  child  for  a  penny  and  bribing  a  beg 
gar  for  his  vote.  He  is  the  enemy  of  man,  and  the  just 
consensus  of  mankind  has  decreed  that  enemies  of  man 
kind  shall  die.'  " 

"  That    isn't    the   best   paragraph,"    said    John,    "  the 


THE    BLACK   DROP  351 

style  of  it,  I  mean.  But  it's  the  one  that  sounds  like 
Charles." 

Grandsir  seemed  to  have  sunk  into  a  sort  of  waking  doze. 
It  was  these  withdrawals  that  sometimes  brought  John  up 
with  a  jerk  and  made  him  tell  himself  that  perhaps,  in  the 
end,  grandsir  would  have  to  give  up  to  being  old. 

"  But  you,"  grandsir  was  saying  murmurously,  "  you 
remember." 

"Remember  what,  grandsir?"  John  asked,  in  the  still 
est  voice,  not  to  jar  him  into  a  wakefulness  he  might  be 
trying  to  escape.  But  grandsir  did  come  broad  awake. 

"  Remember?  "  he  repeated.  "  Was  that  what  I  was 
saying?  Well,  remember  for  one  thing  it's  all  a  mystery, 
a  complete  mystery.  You  can't  fathom  it.  You  can't 
break  the  darkness  with  a  star.  Who  said  that?  was  it 
your  father?  But  even  if  you've  got  the  star  on  the  job, 
you  don't  know  what  the  star  itself  means.  There's  only 
one  thing  we  know  for  certain  —  and  that  is,  you  must 
be  as  decent  as  you  can  and  in  the  way  other  decent  fellows 
have  marked  out  for  you." 

John  had  an  instant's  revulsion  here.  He  couldn't  help 
feeling  this  solemn  talk  was  more  or  less  like  a  funeral 
march  while  Jessie  and  he  were  flying  along  with  the  loves 
and  graces  on  their  springtime  road.  He  was  hearing 
the  bugles  of  war  and  the  flute  of  Pan  in  pure  accord,  and 
grandsir  was  bringing  in  an  undertone  of  muffled  drums. 

"  Everything's  queer  now,"  he  grumbled.  "  Every 
body's  so  awful  solemn." 

"  Well,"  said  grandsir,  brightening  up,  "  there's  no 
more  occasion  for  being  solemn  than  there  has  been  for  the 
last  twenty  years  or  so.  We  ought  to  have  been  solemn 
all  through,  when  things  were  brewing.  But  now  the 
thing's  come  to  a  head  and  drenched  the  world  —  oh,  I 


352  THE    BLACK   DROP 

guess  you're  rather  solemn  yourself,  old  man,  about  the 
way  things  are  going.  When  you  put  your  pen  to  paper, 
you  send  my  temperature  down  into  my  boots." 

John  conceded  the  general  murkiness  because  he  had 
to,  but  it  wasn't  blotting  out  that  light  over  the 
upland  plain  where  the  enchanted  road  ran  and  the  fly 
ing  hours  kept  tryst  with  him.  Bones  came  in,  and  sud 
denly  realizing  how  tired  grandsir  was  and  how  he  turned 
to  Bones  with  an  evident  relief,  John  left  him  and  went 
down  to  his  own  room,  meeting  Finch,  who  had  just  been 
admitted  and  was  sent  up  there  by  Emily :  she  liked  the 
boys  to  have  free  access  to  the  house.  It  was  on  the  land 
ing  of  John's  floor  they  met,  and  he  was  at  once  caught 
by  Finch's  face,  its  red  suffused  with  a  deeper  flush,  his 
eyes  sharp  with  excitement  behind  his  spectacles. 

"What's  up?"  inquired  John.  It  must,  he  knew,  have 
been  the  wildly  unexpected  so  to  move  him. 

"  Come  on  into  your  room,"  said  Finch,  getting  in  be 
fore  him.  "No,  don't  turn  on  the  light.  Come  here  to 
the  window.  Do  you  see  that  chap  down  there  knocking 
out  his  pipe?  He's  shadowing  you." 

"  Me?  "  said  John,  entirely  taken  aback.     "  What  for?  " 

"  Search  me.  You  ask  Bailey.  Anj'how  it's  so.  Now 
you  watch  and  see  what  happens  to  him." 

They  stood  there  perhaps  five  minutes.  In  that  time 
the  fellow  walked  up  the  street  a  little  way,  came  briskly 
back,  dropped  something  and  stooped  to  pick  it  up,  these 
being  the  fussy  activities  of  a  man  clumsily  killing  time. 
And  while  he  stood  there,  a  fantastic  figure  in  a  cloak  and 
queerest  hat  ran  lightly  round  the  corner,  dropped  a 
large  package  at  his  feet,  with  such  accuracy  that  it  lay 
against  his  legs,  tapped  him  on  the  shoulder  and  ran  as 
lightly  away.  He  came  now,  this  grotesque  figure,  across 


THE    BLACK    DROP  353 

the  street,  and  up  the  Tracy  steps,  and  immediately  the 
door  bell  sounded. 

"What  the  deuce—  '  John  began,  but  Finch  inter 
rupted  him,  his  voice  bubbling  with  a  laugh. 

"  Watch  him,"  he  said.  "  Just  watch  him.  O  Lord ! 
I  do  hope  he  carries  it  away.  That's  the  trouble  with  our 
larks.  If  they  don't  turn  out  just  so  they're  damned 
foolishness." 

The  fellow  did  carry  it  away.  First  he  stepped  back 
and,  failing  its  support  against  his  legs,  it  fell  flat  before 
him.  He  stirred  it  with  his  foot,  picked  it  up,  examined 
it  closely,  stood  a  moment  in  evident  hesitation  and  then 
made  off  with  it  at  a  sturdy  pace.  John  was  about  put 
ting  his  question  again,  but  there  was  a  hoot  of  laughter 
behind  him,  and  Finch  remarked: 

"  Now  we  could  do  with  a  little  light,"  and  turned 
it  on. 

There  was  Bailey,  his  hat  still  on  and  again  hooting, 
the  laugh  as  funny  as  his  hat. 

"  If  I  haven't  scared  your  darling  mother  into  forbid 
ding  me  the  house,  it's  because  she's  too  used  to  us  to  be 
scared  at  anything.  First  the  maid  lets  me  in  and  hollers, 
and  your  mother  appears  from  somewhere.  And  does 
she  holler?  Not  she.  She  says,  '  John's  in  his  room. 
You  can  go  right  up.'  I  didn't  take  off  my  hat.  I  wanted 
her  to  see  me  in  my  beauty.  John,  if  you  haven't  a 
brandy  bottle  in  the  bed,  like  Becky,  give  me  something 
out  of  the  faucet.  I  have  this  night  lighted  such  a  candle 
in  Boston  —  you'll  see." 

He  threw  himself  in  a  chair  and  stuck  his  legs  out 
and  now,  taking  his  hat  off,  was,  with  his  disordered  wig, 
so  funny  a  sight  that  John  also  sat  because  he  felt  wild 
laughter  coming  upon  him  and  was  undone.  Finch 

2A 


354  THE    BLACK    DROP 

laughed,  too,  but  he  had  not  only  seen  the  dress  before  but 
worn  one  like  it. 

"  He  took  it,  didn't  he?  "  asked  Finch.  "  Walked  right 
off  with  it  like  a  little  lamb  with  a  tuft  of  grass.  Would 
you  believe  he'd  have  been  such  a  fool?  Weren't  you 
surprised?  " 

"  I  believe  you,"  said  Bailey.  "  I  expected  him  to 
throw  back  the  lapel  of  his  coat  and  show  me  a  badge 
as  big  as  a  full  moon  and  then  nab  me.  So  I  just 
squawked  *  Tag !  '  and  got  out." 

"  But  what  —  what —  '  spluttered  John,  "  what's  on 
anyway,  and  if  it's  any  such  fool  thing  as  it  looks,  why 
didn't  you  let  me  in?" 

"  Why,"  said  Bailey,  adopting  the  fairy  tale  tone,  "you 
must  know  —  and  once  upon  a  time  —  Brennan  and  Finch 
and  I  hired  us  three  costumes  precisely  alike,  so  that,  being 
three,  we  could  appear  in  three  places  almost  at  once  and 
give  a  dizzying  impression  of  there  being  but  one  of  us 
with  supernatural  powers  of  locomotion.  And  we've 
pla3red  our  little  game  and  won,  hands  down,  and  being  about 
to  return  our  costumes  to  the  Semitic  gentleman  who 
loaned  them  to  us,  we  thought  we  could  afford  to  keep  one 
back  and  send  it  to  a  friend.  We  thought,  all  things  con 
sidered,  we'd  get  enough  out  of  it  to  pay  us.  So  we  does 
it  up  in  a  nice  box  and  labels  it  large  and  plain  and  leans 
it  up  against  this  Johnnie's  legs  to  carry  back  to  the  one 
as  hires  him.  Of  course  there  were  chances  he'd  leave  it 
right  there  on  the  pavement,  and  walk  off,  and  little  Ned 
Bailey'd  be  like  the  other  little  boys  that  drop  an  April 
Fool  in  the  thoroughfare  and  have  to  sneak  back  and  pick 
it  up  themselves.  But  it  all  came  out  slick  as  a  pin,  and  if 
there  isn't  balm  in  Gilead  I  don't  know  what  there  is  there 
and  Gilead's  the  prize  vacuum  of  history." 


THE    BLACK    DROP  355 

"  But  who  is  the  one  as  hires  him?  "  inquired  John. 

"  The  one,"  said  Bailey  modestly,  "  the  box  was  ad 
dressed  to." 

"And  who's  that?" 

"  Mr.  Charles  Tracy.  It's  a  kind  of  a  souvenir,  old 
boy,  for  we're  greatly  indebted  to  your  Charles,  and  we 
wanted  to  do  the  handsome  thing  by  him,  give  him  a  testi 
monial,  a  loving  cup  or  a  sunburst  or  an  antique  wig  and 
hat." 

"  What's  he  done  for  you?  "  inquired  John. 

But  he  spoke  with  some  inward  apprehension.  His  talk 
with  grandsir  had  made  him  sensitive  to  the  atmosphere 
about  Charles. 

"  Oh,"  said  Bailey,  airily,  "  he's  simply  met  us  and  he 
is  ours.  He's  given  us  back  our  contracts  and  they're 
torn  into  forty  million  pieces  ;  and  now,  old  son,  we're  ready 
to  pitch  in  and  do  some  of  the  things  we  planned  before 
we  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  excellent  Charles." 

"He  let  you  break  your  contracts?  "  said  John  slowly. 
He  was  too  awed  by  this  development  in  the  direction  of 
Charles  to  give  his  mind  at  once  to  its  relief  over  getting 
his  men  back  again  out  of  bondage.  "  What  made  him? 
There's  something  in  the  background  you  don't  know  — 
or  haven't  told." 

"What  made  him?"  said  Bailey.  "I  made  him.  I 
asked  him,  that's  all,  and  he  said  yes.  Your  Charles  has 
his  points." 

That  was  all  he  would  say.  He  owned  they  had  harried 
Charles,  worried  him,  no  doubt,  by  the  constant  attention 
of  their  buffoonery ;  but  of  the  probable  criminal  activities 
of  Charles  he  had  nothing  to  say.  Bailey  devoted 
a  modest  prean  to  the  way  his  recreant  heart  had 
behaved  in  this  pursuit  of  Charles.  He  had  run  all  over 


356  THE    BLACK    DROP 

the  city,  he  said,  like  greased  lightning.  He  had  laughed 
himself  faint.  And  however  his  heart  had  liked  it,  he  was 
more  and  more  convinced  it  was  in  the  right  place.  Pos 
sibly  he  might  enter  for  the  next  Marathon  and,  if  he  sur 
vived  that,  see  if  he  could  get  Over  There  on  the  strength 
of  it.  Brennan  came  in  presently  and  they  sat  down  to 
one  of  their  old  conclaves  and  had  a  great  time  planning 
propaganda.  John  had,  he  told  in  some  detail,  done  their 
work,  too,  while  they  had  been  serving  out  their  sentence. 
And  there  was  money  to  come.  The  mysterious  donor  was 
good  for  some  hundreds  more.  Also  —  this  came  from 
Bailey  who  was  as  forgiving  as  the  sun  except  in  the  matter 
of  base  politicians  and  Germans  —  there  was  a  certainty 
that  Niles  had  seen  the  light  and  was  crawling  back  to 
them. 

"  And  you,"  said  Bailey  to  John,  "  you've  done  it,  old 
man.  He  says  he  could  stand  anybody's  arguments  and 
sit  up  all  night  and  answer  'em,  and  match  'em,  text  for 
text.  But  he  can't  stand  anybody's  being  as  clever  as 
you're  being,  and  he's  got  to  pitch  in  with  us  and  be  clever, 
too.  For  he  says  you  can't  be  clever  about  pacifism. 
There's  something  in  it  that  turns  your  brains  to  nutmegs 
and  your  style  to  water, —  and  by  George !  won't  there 
be  a  team  of  us !  " 


XXXIV 

NORRIS  lived  now  with  a  consciousness  of  Helen  at  his 
elbow.  She  was  begging  him  to  keep  her  in  mind.  Once 
by  a  note  she  did  it,  again,  in  a  veiled  way,  by  telephone. 
His  unwilling  and  tentative  promise  she  quietly  asserted 
she  considered  binding.  He  must  do  nothing  without 
telling  her. 

"What  is  it  you  are  going  to  do?"  Emily  asked  him 
once  when  he  came  away  from  the  telephone.  "  Why 
don't  you  do  it  if  she  wants  you  to?  " 

Norris  smiled  a  little  sardonically  over  that,  and  won 
dered  what  Emily  would  say  if  she  realized  what  it  was 
Helen  was  urging  him  to  do.  Something  about  France, 
he  told  her,  lying  boldly.  He  could  not  remember  a 
time  when  he  had  lied  to  her.  She  was  so  fair-minded  and 
tolerant,  you  really  didn't  have  to  lie. 

"  The  girls,"  he  said,  "  both  of  them,  want  to  go." 

But  instead  of  feeling  himself  on  the  road  to  a  heroic 
task,  he  was  chiefly  irritated,  wishing  he  could  pack  off 
the  whole  family  to  the  other  side  of  the  globe  until  he 
found  out  what  was  to  become  of  Charles,  to  whom,  ac 
cording  to  every  tenet  of  family  affection,  he  owed  pro 
tection,  not  hostility.  He  thought  he  could  have  lived 
through  the  thing  very  well  if  the  family  was  at  least 
as  diametrically  distant  as  China.  Cross,  too, —  why 
must  he  be  driven  beyond  endurance  by  meeting  Cross  in 
the  street,  as  if  the  fellow  had  his  eye  on  him,  had  his  eye 
on  all  the  Tracys  to  make  sure  they  were  doing  no  harm 

357 


358  THE    BLACK   DROP 

to  Blighty?  They  never  exchanged  a  word.  Cross 
touched  his  hat  most  respectfully  and  Norris  responded, 
every  time  more  and  more  sulkily,  but  feeling,  with  an 
added  irritation,  that  Cross  understood  the  sulkiness,  too, 
and  would  never  lay  it  up  against  him.  Norris  slept  very 
little  now.  He  lay  awake  arranging  interviews  with 
Charles,  wherein  absurdly  he  found  himself  setting  forth 
to  his  son,  in  an  oratorical  fashion,  the  duty  of  a  man  to 
the  state,  and  sometimes  even  quoting  to  him  whole  para 
graphs  from  his  paper  on  the  Politician.  He  concluded 
from  this  that  he  must  sleep  more,  in  this  desultory  mus 
ing,  than  he  thought,  and  these  were  half  waking  dreams, 
because  the  man  didn't  live  who  could  quote  from  an  ora 
torical  paper  to  a  son  he  meant  to  hang.  Step  by  step 
with  his  hatred  of  the  whole  job  marched  the  determination 
to  break  his  implied  word  to  Helen.  Let  her  blame  him, 
let  her  even  give  him  up,  if  her  anger  against  him  went 
so  far.  He  wasn't  going  to  let  her  in  for  partnership  in 
the  hideous  thing.  Sometimes  when  he  woke  in  the  morn 
ing  after  his  wretched  night  he  would  take  himself  to  task 
for  having  done  nothing.  "  While  I  hesitate  and  balance 
good  and  bad,"  he  would  cry  to  that  inward  halting  ser 
vitor  of  his,  which  was  his  will,  "  Charles  is  doing  things. 
And  they  are  undoubtedly  all  bad.  He  is  tripping  up 
good  that  evil  may  ride  over  it  to  the  pit.  He  is  slaying 
the  innocent,  and  I  am  standing  aside  while  they  are  slain. 
America,  by  staying  out  of  the  war,  has  killed  her  millions 
on  the  field.  I,  too,  am  killing  through  default,  because  I 
am  staying  out."  And  again  he  would  feel  that  some  day 
there  would  come  a  gigantic  wave  and  bear  him  along 
with  it  and  toss  him  down  at  Charles's  door. 

After  one  day  of  actual  peace  because  he  had  made  up  his 
mind  that  the  thing  was  too  terrible  to  be  expected  of  him, 


THE    BLACK    DROP  359 

he  knew,  without  any  previous  screwing  up  of  resolution, 
that  the  time  had  come.  He  put  on  his  coat  to  go  out 
and,  hearing  Emily  in  the  dining-room,  went  through 
to  her  where  she  was  humming  a  little  song  and  laying  out 
some  napery  in  a  way  that  hurt  him  inexpressibly,  it 
made  her  a  picture  of  such  sweet  untroubled  uses.  He 
went  up  to  her  and  stopped  her  humming  and  she  glanced 
at  him  with  a  smile. 

"  Going  out?  "  she  asked.  "  I'd  like  a  breath.  Want 
me  to  go?  " 

He  almost  caught  at  that,  but  he  knew  it  was  of  no  use. 
There  was  no  reprieve  now.  The  time  had  come. 

"  Can't,"  he  said.  "  I  heard  John  in  his  room.  Call 
him  and  ask  him  to  take  you  up  the  embankment. 
Emily !  " 

She  had  gone  on  with  her  work  and  she  stopped,  her 
hands  hovering,  and  looked  at  him.  The  intent  expres 
sion  came  into  her  face,  the  one  that  said  she  was  on  guard. 

"  Norris,"  she  said,  "what's  wrong?  " 

Then  he  saw  he  was  making  a  mistake  and  called  on  him 
self  to  buck  up  and,  if  he  couldn't  spare  himself,  at  least 
spare  her. 

"  Nothing,  old  girl,"  he  said.  "  Only  I'm  sort  of  senti 
mental  over  you  to-night.  Give  me  a  kiss." 

She  gave  it  and  went  with  him  to  the  outer  door  as  if, 
he  thought,  she  were  seeing  him  off  on  a  difficult  errand, 
and  he  wondered  how  she  would  receive  him  when  he  came 
back,  if  he  had  to  tell  her  he  had  slain  her  son.  But,  after 
all,  would  he  come  back?  Might  he  not  have  to  stick  to 
Charles  until  the  decisive  thing  he  meant  to  demand  of 
him  was  done?  Might  it  not  involve  more  than  this  night, 
and  shouldn't  he  have  gone  prepared  for  indefinite  absence? 
It  would  be  difficult  now  to  sneak  his  dressing  bag  away 


360  THE    BLACK    DROP 

from  under  Emily's  eyes,  and  anyway  things  could  be 
bought,  and  if  they  couldn't  it  would  mean  he  was  too 
desperately  on  the  job  to  use  them.  As  for  giving  Emily 
specious  reasons,  it  would  be  more  effective  to  do  that  by 
telephone,  if  he  really  found  himself  detained.  Face  to 
face  with  her,  he  felt  the  hopelessness  of  evading  that 
clear  gaze. 

Emily  was  not,  this  time,  so  easily  assuaged.  When  he 
had  left  her,  she  stood  a  moment  in  the  hall  thinking  of 
him  as  he  had  been  lately,  as  he  was  when  Helen  telephoned 
him  and  he  had  put  her  lightly  off,  but  after  it  had  seemed 
strangely  shaken.  She  went  to  the  telephone,  called  up 
Helen  and  put  her  question. 

"  Your  daddy's  out  of  sorts,  Helen.  Do  you  know  any 
thing  about  it?  " 

"Out  of  sorts?"  asked  Helen,  and  her  voice  thrilled 
with  a  quick  alarm  she  was  not,  at  that  first  minute,  able 
to  suppress.  "He's  not  ill?  " 

"  No,  worried,  upset.  He's  just  gone  out  as  if  he  were 
going  to  jump  off  the  embankment.  Helen,  do  you 
know  anything  about  this?  If  you  do,  you  must  tell  me. 
I'm  really  troubled,  really,  Helen.  Do  you  see?  " 

Helen,  she  immediately  knew,  was  deceiving  her.  For 
she  only  said : 

"  Don't  you  worry,  dear.  I  fancy  I  know  about  it,  and 
it's  quite  all  right.  And,  mother,  I'm  going  to  send  Jessie 
round  to  you.  In  the  morning.  Good-by." 

Send  Jessie  round?  what  should  Emily  want  with  Jessie 
because  her  husband  was  on  edge? 

Norris  went  on  to  Charles's  house,  and  on  the  way  he 
was  not  apparently  thinking  at  all.  The  thinking  had 
been  done.  He  only  noted  the  aspect  of  the  night  and  con 
cluded  what  breeze  there  was  appeared  to  be  west.  He 


THE    BLACK    DROP  361 

made  a  great  point  of  that,  stopping  to  hold  up  his  hand 
and  test  it,  as  if  the  way  of  the  wind  could  help  or  hinder 
him.  Reaching  the  house,  he  gave  himself  no  time  to 
change  his  mind,  but  went  up  the  steps  and  rang  the  bell. 
The  door  was  at  once  opened  by  Charles  himself,  hat  in 
hand.  He  looked  greatly  surprised  and,  his  father  plainly 
saw,  questioning.  Was  the  look  apprehensive?  was  it 
threatening? 

"  Going  out?  "  asked  Norris.  He  stepped  inside,  put 
his  hand  on  the  door  above  Charles's,  still  on  the  knob, 
and  closed  it.  "  Come  back  in,  Charles.  I  want  to  see 
you." 

Norris  took  off  his  great  coat  and  deposited  it,  with  his 
hat,  on  the  hall  table.  He  turned  toward  the  library  and 
fronted  there  the  smiling  picture  of  Helen.  That  he 
wished  he  need  not  have  seen.  It  brought  a  little  catch 
in  his  throat.  He  made  a  mental  note  not  to  look  at  it 
again,  and  went  on  into  the  room.  Charles  took  a  step 
after  him,  but  an  indeterminate  one,  as  if  he  could  not 
possibly,  even  with  the  best  will  in  the  world  and  with  every 
argument  on  the  side  of  a  gracious  hospitality,  accept  his 
father's  presence.  He  laughed  a  little,  apologetically. 

"  I  can't,  dad,"  he  said.  "  Awfully  sorry,  but  I've 
an  appointment  and  I'm  late  for  it  now." 

"  You'll  have  to  give  it  up,"  said  Norris,  his  tone  as 
conclusive  as  the  words.  He  pulled  a  chair  directly  un 
der  Helen's  picture  and  seated  himself.  Whatever  re 
minders  the  picture  might  be  sending  forth,  in  the  still 
argument  of  its  appealing  grace,  whatever  pleas  to  re 
member  the  past,  to  save,  if  it  might  be,  the  poor  menaced 
future,  it  should  be  directed  to  Charles.  As  for  himself, 
he  could  not  bear  it  and  go  on.  Charles  stood  for  a  mo 
ment  looking  at  him,  debating,  with  tight  lips  and  frown- 


362  THE    BLACK   DROP 

ing  brow.  Then  his  face  broke  up  into  the  beautiful 
smile  his  father  knew  and  was  startled  to  see  —  though 
he  also  sadly  knew  it  was  a  weapon  from  Charles's  ar 
mory —  and  went  back  into  the  hall  to  pull  off  his  coat. 

"  All  right,"  he  said.     "  But  I  must  telephone." 

His  father  heard  him.     He  got  the  number  at  once. 

"  That  you?  "  he  asked.  "I  was.  Just  starting.  It's 
impossible.  You  understand?  Do  you  understand? 
No.  Possibly  not  to-night.  Do  you  understand?  Yes. 
That  matter  we  talked  over  this  afternoon.  Do  you  un 
derstand?  Say  it  yourself  and  I'll  tell  you  yes  or  no." 
And,  after  a  pause,  "  Yes,  that's  it,  in  the  main.  That's 
near  enough." 

He  came  back  to  his  father,  seated  himself,  and  was  at. 
once  all  courteous  attention. 

"  What  is  it,  dad?  "  he  asked  solicitously.  "  Anything 
wrong?  " 

Norris  felt  no  excitement  now,  only  a  tightening  of  the 
fibres  of  life  within  him,  the  strange  secret  forces  that  hold 
the  body  to  its  tasks.  And  he  knew  Charles  was  as  tense 
as  he.  Charles  had  his  cowardices.  The  man  of  hidden 
ways  must  have  them.  But  at  this  moment  his  father 
felt,  with  a  thrill  of  relief,  Charles  was  not  afraid ;  he  had 
been  able  to  gather  himself  up  for  combat,  and  there  would 
be  no  shame  to  be  remembered  in  that  each  had  not  fought 
as  hard  as  he  knew  how.  He  began. 

"  The  papers  have  come  into  my  hands." 

"  Papers  ?  "  Charles  repeated,  with  a  sufficient  amount 
of  interest,  not  enough  to  be  confirmatory  nor  too  little 
for  cordiality. 

"  The  papers  you  were  sending  back  to  Germany.  We 
won't  waste  time  talking  them  over.  You  know  what's  in 
them.  I  know  them  by  heart.  They  are,  if  the  govern- 


THE    BLACK   DROP  363 

ment  does  its  duty  —  "  here  he  paused,  because  the  words 
of  Cross  that  had  stayed  by  him  waking  and  sleeping, 
ever  since  he  heard  them,  rose  to  his  lips  and  insisted  on 
finding  way  —  "  they're  enough  to  hang  you." 

He  was  looking  straight  at  Charles  and  saw  him  sicken. 
Charles's  gaze  did  not  deflect  by  a  hair's  breadth  from  his, 
and  he  made  no  movement,  even  of  the  hands.  But  his 
face  turned  slowly  to  an  ivory  white.  For  a  moment  he 
did  not  speak.  Then  he  said,  and  in  a  tone  marked  by 
merely  a  casual  curiosity; 

"  John  turn  them  over  to  you?  " 

"  No.  John  knows  nothing  about  my  having  them. 
He  had  the  bag  for  a  few  minutes,  I  understand,  but  not 
long  enough  for  him  to  get  any  idea  of  what  it  contained. 
We'll  leave  John  out  of  this.  He  has  nothing  whatever 
to  do  with  it.  The  thing  is  between  you  and  me." 

"  Nothing  whatever  to  do  with  it,"  repeated  Charles 
curiously.  Yet  he  was  perhaps  not  curious  about  John. 
He  may  have  been  giving  himself  time  to  conjecture  what 
was  to  be  required  of  him,  and  how  he  could  reply.  "  But 
do  tell  me,  dad,  just  how  —  " 

"  No,"  said  Norris.  "  I  sha'n't  tell  you  anything.  I 
merely  tell  you  I  have  the  papers.  The  manner  of  their 
coming  into  my  hands  isn't  your  business." 

"  And  you've  really  got  them,"  repeated  Charles. 
"Got  'em  here?" 

"  To  be  precise,  I  have  copies  of  them." 

"  Where  are  the  originals  ?  " 

A  quick  look  leaped  into  his  eyes,  one  his  father  had 
prayed  he  might  not  see  there,  the  look  of  desperate  fear. 

"  The  originals,"  said  Norris,  "  are  in  the  hands  of 
another  man  who  is  waiting  to  use  them  until  I've  had  a 
chance  at  you." 


364  THE    BLACK   DROP 

Now  something  less  than  a  shiver  passed  over  Charles, 
over  his  hands  and  his  eyes  like  a  fleeting  wind. 

"  He's  giving  me  a  chance,"  he  said,  "to  get  away  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Norris,  "  you  won't  get  away.  He's  giv 
ing  me  a  chance  to  warn  you  to  give  yourself  up." 

Charles  threw  back  his  head  and  laughed  at  the  surprise 
of  it. 

"  Give  myself  up !  "  he  repeated.  "  Do  you  know  what 
that  means?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Norris,  "  I  know." 

And  the  words  of  Cross  clanged,  like  a  warning  bell, 
through  his  mind. 

"  By  God,  you  don't !  or  you  wouldn't  sit  there  like  a 
judge  on  the  bench  and  talk  about  giving  myself  up.  It 
means  exactly  as  much  to  you  as  it  does  to  me,  let  me  tell 
you  —  to  you,  to  mother,  to  Helen.  If  you  do  for  me 
you've  done  for  yourself  —  for  all  of  you.  Your  books, 
your  sanctified  New  England  reputation,  they'll  all  go 
by  the  board.  Don't  you  know  they  will?  " 

"  Charles,"  said  his  father,  "  I've  thought  this  over 
and  over,  too  long  perhaps.  But  I  thought  I  had  the 
right  —  perhaps  I  hadn't  —  to  the  one  little  decency  of 
seeing  you  give  yourself  up,  not  of  being  dragged  out  of 
your  house  like  a  common  criminal  —  as  you  are." 

"You  said  you'd  read  the  papers,"  said  Charles.  He 
was  scowling  heavily  now,  and  his  pale  face  had  darkened 
with  the  mounting  blood  of  rage.  "  I  suppose  you  know 
then  I'm  not  the  only  one  implicated." 

"  They're  all  being  watched,"  said  his  father.  "  They 
won't  get  away." 

"  But  I'm  the  only  one  to  have  the  privilege  of  giving 
myself  up." 

"  Yes.      Considering  who  they  are,  it  didn't  seem  to  me 


THE    BLACK    DROP  365 

the  Government  owed  them  any  particular  exemption  or 
that  I  owed  them  anything.  And  whether  I've  a  right 
to  give  you  a  chance  to  come  out  of  it  a  little  less  despi 
cable  than  the  rest  of  'em  I  don't  know.  Anyway,  I've 
taken  it." 

"  You  say  they're  being  watched.  Am  I  being 
watched?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Norris.  Then  he  added,  in  a  tone  of  ex 
treme  gentleness,  "  I'm  watching  you." 

Perhaps  the  gentleness  was  admonitory.  Perhaps  it 
was  unconsciously  meant  to  remind  Charles  of  old  days 
when  one  was  little  and  needed  care  and  the  other  was 
giving  it.  But  Charles  laughed. 

"  You  needn't  laugh,"  said  Norris  quietly.  "  I'm  not 
an  old  man,  Charles.  I'm  not  over  weight.  I'm  in  rather 
good  condition,  when  it  comes  to  that.  I've  got  the  full 
use  of  my  legs.  Also  my  fists.  And  I  sha'n't  leave  you." 

"  Well,  now,"  said  Charles,  conversationally,  "  just 
what  do  you  propose?  " 

"  I  propose  that  you  and  I  talk  this  thing  over  a  little 
more  fully  —  though  not  much  —  and  that  we  go  out  to 
gether  and  you  give  yourself  up." 

"  Dear  me  !  "  said  Charles  humorously.  "  The  whole 
thing  is  so  foreign  to  the  family  traditions  that  I  don't  be 
lieve  I  should  know  where  to  go.  I  assume  it  means  spend 
ing  the  rest  of  the  night  in  jail.  What'll  mother  say?  " 

Norris  did  not  answer. 

"  If  that's  the  programme,"  Charles  continued,  "  I  cer 
tainly  don't  propose  to  hurry  it.  I  most  decidedly  don't 
want  to  finish  the  night  in  a  stone  jug.  Now,  how  about 
bail?" 

"  No,"  said  Norris.  "  I  shouldn't  furnish  it.  Not  in 
any  circumstances.  You'll  give  yourself  up  and  you'll 


366  THE    BLACK    DROP 

take  your  own  chances  exactly  as  other  criminals  do. 
But  —  '  here  his  voice  broke  slightly,  and  Charles  was 
quick  to  note  it  —  "  I  shall  be  with  you,  you  know,  every 
inch  of  the  way.  I've  got  things  arranged  to  leave  home 
and  go  wherever  you  are  sent,  and  to  tell  your  mother  in 
the  quickest  possible  order  where  I've  gone." 

"  Father,"  said  Charles  chaffingly,  "  are  you  sure  you 
haven't  got  a  revolver  in  your  pocket?  That's  another 
dodge,  you  know,  —  blow  the  top  of  my  head  off?  How's 
that  suit  you?  " 

"  I  thought  of  that,"  said  Norris  unmoved,  "  but  I 
concluded  it  went  with  my  novel  writing  traditions  and 
I'd  get  down  to  brass  tacks.  I  was  told,  not  long  ago, 
that  that's  what  life  is  —  brass  tacks.  No,  I  simply  ex 
pect  you  to  do  the  plain,  decent  thing —  the  only  one  decent 
thing  there  is  left  —  and  take  the  consequences." 

They  sat  in  silence  for  a  moment,  and  then  Charles 
broke  out  in  the  most  complete  revulsion,  the  frankest 
possible  surrender. 

"Well,  dad,  you're  a  great  old  sport  and  you've  got  me. 
It's  no  use  to  pretend  you  haven't.  But  give  me  a  minute, 
dad.  Let  me  see  if  I  can't  convince  you  I'm  not  every  bit 
as  bad  as  I  seem." 

"  I  don't  believe  you  could  convince  me,"  said  Norris 
soberly.  He  felt  the  weariness  now  of  what  his  task  had 
cost  him  and  passed  a  hand  slowly  across  his  eyes.  "  We 
needn't  go  into  it  any  deeper.  You're  not  obliged  to 
tell  me  things.  I  simply  shouldn't  believe  you  if  you  did." 

"  But  see  here,"  said  Charles  boyishly,  "  you've  got  to 
give  me  a  chance:  not  to  get  back,  you  know,  but  to  get 
back  with  you.  That's  all  I  ask  now.  So  you  can  tell 
mum,  you  know,  mum  and  Helen.  And  you'd  like  to  re 
member  it  yourself.  This  is  an  awful  stunt  you're  doing. 


THE    BLACK   DROP  367 

Don't  you  s'pose  I  know  it  is?  After  it's  all  over,  you'll 
want  something  you  can  hang  on  to.  For  I  can  tell  you 
what'll  happen.  You'll  simply  go  all  to  pieces." 

Hearing  the  frank  boyish  voice  pleading  with  him,  Nor- 
ris  could  at  last  have  broken  into  the  old  cry  of  father 
hood  :  "  Would  God  I  had  died  for  thee,  O  Absalom,  my 
son,  my  son."  But  his  face  remained  unmoved  and  he  did 
not  answer,  while  Charles  went  on : 

"  It's  all  true.  Every  blessed  thing  you've  said  is 
right,  dead  right.  The  only  point  where  you're  not  right 
is  that  you  don't  know  all  this  stopped  weeks  ago,  stopped 
altogether.  I'd  had  those  fellows  here  up  to  that  time. 
I'd  done  over  the  billiard  room,  for  a  safe  meeting  place. 
Did  you  know  that?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Norris,  "  I  knew  it." 

"  You  did?  "  said  Charles  admiringly.  "  Aren't  you 
the  old  fox !  Do  you  know,  dad,  I'm  rather  afraid  of  you. 
If  I'd  been  as  afraid  when  I  was  eighteen,  you  might  have 
made  something  of  me.  Now  I'm  going  to  tell  you  what 
happened.  I  had  a  safe  put  into  the  billiard  room  and  a 
switchboard  here  in  the  house  so  we  could  speak  all  over 
the  place  if  anything  happened.  But  that  was  all  months 
ago,  and  now  —  you  just  come  up  with  me  and  see  whether 
it  looks  like  a  conspirator's  den." 

He  rose,  in  alert  invitation. 

"  I  don't  care  anything  about  the  billiard  room,"  said 
Norris.  But  he  did  get  up,  for  he  had  a  sudden  idea 
that  Charles  was  about  to  escape  him.  And  he  gave 
himself  a  quick  inward  admonition  to  remember  that, 
though  an  old  boy,  he  could  sprint  and  he  could  spar. 
On  the  stairs  Charles  turned  and  looked  down  upon  him, 
and  this  was  the  look  and  the  tone  of  Charles  when  he  was 
not  having  his  own  way. 


368  THE    BLACK   DROP 

"  If  you  know  so  much,"  he  said,  "  I  suppose  you  know 
that  damned  mountebank  sent  me  his  fool  clothes  for  an 
added  insult." 

But  Norris  looked  up  at  him  so  obviously  bewildered 
that  Charles's  face  cleared  and  he  said  grudgingly : 

"  Oh,  well,  it's  evident  you  don't,"  and  went  on. 

The  billiard  room  was  at  the  top  of  the  last  flight  of 
stairs.  The  door  stood  open  and  Charles  stepped  in  and 
turned  on  the  light.  Norris  also  went  in  and  looked 
about  him.  The  room  was  in  a  perfection  of  order  empha 
sizing  its  bareness  to  the  point  of  desolation.  Not  a  pen 
or  inkstand  was  on  the  big  table  and  not  even  a  scrap  of 
paper  in  the  basket.  The  chairs  were  set  in  attitudes  of 
stiff  conventional  usage  about  the  room. 

"  The  typewriter,"  said  Charles,  "  has  gone  down  to  my 
office  at  the  Voice.  The  safe  —  The  door  of  the  safe 

was  open  and  he  swung  it  wider.  "  Actually,  dad,  the 
conspirators  have  simply  cut  stick  and  gone,  repented  of 
their  ways  and  left  no  trace  behind.  Yes,  that  book-case 
—  it's  out  here  because,  when  we  were  using  the  safe,  the 
book-case  stood  in  front  of  it.  I  must  have  it  moved 
back  against  the  wall." 

"  Well,"  said  Norris,  with  a  glance  about  him,  his  mind 
really  on  Cross,  aided  by  gutters,  doing  impossible  feats 
from  the  next  room,  "  I  can  see  you've  cleaned  up  your 
traces  here.  That's  all,  isn't  it?  We  may  as  well  go 
down." 

"  Yes,"  said  Charles,  turning  to  the  door. 

Like  a  shadow  he  slipped  through  and  shut  it  behind 
him.  And  Norris,  the  instant  too  late,  heard  the  lock 
click  and  knew  his  agonies  had  been  fruitless  and  he  was 
done. 


XXXV 

CHARLES  ran  down  the  stairs,  but  at  the  head  of  the 
last  flight  he  stopped  short  at  a  voice  from  the  back  of 
the  hall.  It  was  intermittently  scolding  and,  in  terms  un 
intelligible  to  him,  invoking  Elsa,  who  stood  there,  with 
the  cage  at  her  feet,  as  its  beloved  treasure  and  heart's 
dearest  and  other  melting  epithets  indigenous  to  German 
poetry.  Polly  was  in  great  form  to-night.  The  short 
spin  in  a  taxi  had  evidently  joggled  his  brain  cells  to  a 
surprising  activity  of  linguistic  chaos.  Charles  came  on 
instantly  after  he  had  recognized  the  voice,  devoting  an 
adjective  or  two  to  Polly  on  the  way,  and  Elsa  left  the  cage 
on  the  floor  and  hurried  forward  to  meet  him.  She  had 
on  her  street  dress  and  was  pulling  off  her  gloves.  Her 
face  was  set  in  an  extreme  intentness  and  his  eyes  met  hers 
with  the  same  look. 

"What  is  it?"  she  asked. 

"  Did  you  call  the  meeting  off?  "  he  returned. 

"  Yes,  the  instant  you  telephoned.     Who's  here?  " 

"  How  did  you  get  in?  " 

Their  questions  were  meeting  with  scant  space  for  an 
swers. 

"  By  the  back  way.  The  way  we  said.  Who  was 
here?  " 

"  My  father." 

"  Your  father?  has  he  gone?  " 

He  preceded  her  into  the  room  where  Elsa  was  conscious 
of  Helen's  picture  looking  down  on  them,  and  threw  him 
self  into  a  chair.  The  courtesies  of  life  were  forgotten 
2e  369 


370  THE    BLACK   DROP 

between  them  now.     Elsa  did  not  sit.     She  was  too  taut 
with  her  anxieties. 

"  Well?  well?  "  she  prompted,  standing  before  him  and 
drawing  her  gloves  through  straining  hands.  "  Has 
he  gone?  I  heard  voices.  If  he's  not  gone,  where  is  he?  " 

Charles  told  her  curtly  what  his  father  had  come  to  say 
and  where  his  father  was  now.  She  listened  in  silence, 
her  eyes  upon  him  so  intently  that  they  seemed  to  be  im 
placable  inquisitors  dragging  out  of  him  what  he  had  to 
say,  as  if  he  spoke  because  they  bade  him  and  not  through 
his  own  will.  She  walked  away  from  him  and  turned  back. 

"There  isn't,"  she  said,  "you  told  me  yesterday,  a 
scrap  of  evidence  in  this  house." 

He  was  looking  at  her  in  a  steady  intensity  like  her  own. 
Elsa  came  near  liking  him  then.  He  was  not  going  to 
flinch,  she  saw,  now  at  the  last,  and  she  adored  courage. 
What  if  this  empty  husk  of  a  man,  having  the  one  great 
est  quality  still  left  in  him,  were  her  makeshift  of  a  man 
after  all,  something  left  her  from  the  flotsam  time  was 
throwing  up  to  clog  her  feet? 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  not  a  scrap  of  evidence.  The  servants 
are  gone,  as  we  decided.  That  fellow  and  his  wife  come 
in  by  day  to  put  the  house  in  order." 

"  Then,"  said  she,  "  what  are  we  waiting  for?  " 

"  Nothing  —  if  you're  ready.  Got  your  things 
packed?  " 

"  Yes.  Sophie  comes  in  by  the  day,  you  know.  She's 
paid  ahead.  If  she  comes  to-morrow  and  finds  the  apart 
ment  empty,  she's  simply  to  go  away  again." 

"  And  the  Voice?  " 

"  That's    all    right.     You're    to    telephone    Schmidt  - 
Smith  —  we'd  better  remember  that  even  between  ourselves 
—  and  he'll  take  it  on  to-morrow  without  any  fuss,  and  the 


THE    BLACK    DROP  371 

next  issue'll  be  a  red  hot  one  clamoring  for  war.  Tele 
phone  him  now.  Then  get  a  taxi  and  we'll  go  round  to 
my  house  and  pick  up  my  things." 

Charles  got  up  to  go  to  the  telephone  and  stopped, 
laughing  out  savagely  to  himself.  He  was  thinking  Bren- 
nan's  old  cartoon  would  go  into  that  number  of  the  paper, 
the  one  of  the  cock  and  the  lion  and  the  kangaroo  drilling 
for  war  and  the  United  States  greedily  picking  up  corn. 
He  had  laid  it  out  for  such  an  issue,  with  some  of  Bailey's 
militant  verse  and  Finch's  prose. 

"  What  is  it?  "  she  asked.  "What  are  you  laughing 
at?  " 

But  he  stood  listening. 

"  Hark !  "  he  said.  For  there  was  the  sound  of  a  key  in 
the  lock  of  the  outer  door.  "  Hark !  "  he  said  again  under 
his  breath,  and  Helen  came  in. 

She  looked  a  little  pale  and  rather  serious,  but  was  in 
no  sense  excited.  So  composed  was  she  that  one  might 
have  said  she  expected  to  find  Elsa  there  and  that  the 
scene  was  set  precisely  as  she  had  known  it  would  be.  She 
wore  a  long  coat,  and  this  she  took  off  at  once  and  dropped 
it  on  a  chair.  At  that  moment  the  parrot,  disturbed  by 
the  cold  breeze  from  the  opening  of  the  door,  called  from 
the  hall : 

"  Law !  law  !  what  a  fuss." 

Curiously  enough  Charles  and  Elsa,  who  were  both 
used  to  the  creature,  started  at  that,  but  Helen  gave  no 
sign  of  having  heard.  Her  breeding  was  so  complete, 
Charles  sardonically  thought,  with  an  unwilling  admira 
tion,  that  she  was  ignoring  the  devil  in  the  bird  with  an 
undiminished  ease. 

"  I've  been  waiting  for  your  father  to  come  out,"  said 
Helen,  about  to  seat  herself,  and  then,  with  the  air  of 


372  THE    BLACK    DROP 

dispensing  hospitality,  pausing  to  indicate  a  chair  to 
Elsa,  who,  however,  did  not  obey  the  gracious  hand. 

"  Waiting?  "  said  Charles. 

"  Just  across  the  street.  I  didn't  want  to  come  in  un 
til  he'd  gone." 

"  So  you  knew  he  was  here?  "  Charles  demanded,  a 
thick  frown  settling  on  his  face. 

"  I  knew  he  was  coming  sometime,  but  not  to-night. 
To-night  I  just  guessed  it.  Where  is  your  father?  " 

"  He's  gone,"  said  Charles.     "  He  went  the  back  way." 

"The  back  way?"  She  bent  her  brows  upon  him. 
She  was  plainly  puzzled.  "  Why  should  your  father  go 
out  the  back  way?  " 

"  Because,"  said  Charles,  "  if  you  must  know,  I'd  been 
telling  him  some  of  the  things  that  have  been  going  on 
here  —  I  suppose  you  know  what  I  mean?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Helen,  "  I  know." 

"  I  took  him  over  the  house  and  showed  him  some  of 
our  precautions  in  case  there  was  a  raid.  And  when  I 
got  him  down  to  the  back  yard  and  let  him  see  how  easy  it 
was  to  make  a  get-away  he  said,  being  there,  he'd  go  along, 
not  come  back  through  the  house  again.  That's  all." 

"  Charles,"  said  Helen,  "  what  does  your  father  want 
you  to  do?  " 

For  a  moment  or  two  there  was  silence  in  the  room,  and 
Charles,  looking  down  at  the  floor,  was  conscious  that  the 
eyes  of  the  two  women  were  fixed  upon  him,  Elsa's  in  an 
inexorable  calm,  bidding  him  remember,  count  every  heart 
beat  because  the  fortunes  of  them  both  hung  upon  this  one 
minute.  And  Helen,  he  knew  from  his  last  glance  at  her, 
looked  strangely  like  the  vision  he  had  seen  in  Elsa's  room. 
That  did  momentarily  disturb  him.  He  was  afraid  he 
was  going  to  lose  composure.  He  must  not,  he  thought, 


THE    BLACK    DROP  373 

get  jumpy.  But  his  mind  was  made  up.  He  shot  a 
swift  look  into  the  eyes  of  Elsa.  If  it  didn't  put  her  wise, 
he  told  himself,  she  was  less  clever  than  he  thought.  Then 
he  turned  to  Helen  with  his  beautiful  smile. 

"  My  dearest,"  he  said,  "  dad  asks  me  to  give  myself 
up." 

"  Yes,"  said  Helen  breathlessly,  "  I  knew  he  would.  And 
you're  going  to  do  it." 

"  Yes,"  said  Charles,  "  I'm  going  to  do  it.  That's  what 
we  were  talking  about  when  you  came  in.  Mrs.  Daven 
port  has  been  a  sort  of  secretary  of  the  gang  I've  got  my 
self  in  with,  and  we  were  taking  account  of  stock.  She 
hasn't  been  concerned  in  it,  you  understand,  but  she's 
found  them  out  and  she's  found  me  out.  She  knows  so 
little  of  the  whole  business  that  there's  no  doubt  of  her 
going  scot  free.  And  that's  what  you'd  want,  by  Jove ! 
a  woman  like  you,  Helen.  You'd  want  another  woman 
to  go  free." 

Helen  looked  at  Elsa  and  remembered  the  day  Elsa  had 
told  her  she  was  in  the  Service  and  on  Charles's  track. 
Was  it  true?  If  it  was  true,  was  it  possible  the  woman 
had  led  him  to  his  undoing?  and  what  if  she  had?  by  what 
ever  steps  he  had  come  before  the  seat  of  judgment,  he  was 
there,  and  the  way  seemed  no  more  important  than  any 
other  inevitable  path  to  the  grave  of  hope  and  happiness. 
Elsa  was  a  long  distance  outside  her  mind  already ;  but 
now  she  thrust  her  on  to  farthest  space  and  turned  to 
Charles  as  if  he  and  she  were  alone  in  the  house  together, 
in  the  world. 

"  And,"  said  Charles,  paraphrasing  the  old  password, 
"  Helen,  you've  come  home  to  me." 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  the  tears  now  on  her  lashes,  "  I've 
come  home." 


374  THE   BLACK   DROP 

Nothing  of  the  old  fondness  would  she  deny  him  if  it 
would  make  him  the  stronger  for  his  task.  If  they  were 
to  live  together,  the  knowledge  of  his  alien  nature 
would  stand  between  them,  bidding  her  shudder  at 
the  touch  of  his  hand,  the  sound  of  his  voice.  But  what 
solace  he  needed  for  this  unguessed  trial  she  would  give 
him  generously.  Now  he  was  saying,  and  in  the  voice 
that  searched  always  at  the  inmost  heart  of  her: 

"  I'm  going  to  ask  you  not  to  stay.  Not  now,  at  least. 
Mrs.  Davenport,"  he  interpolated,  in  a  concise  authority, 
"  you'd  better  be  making  out  the  pay  schedule  of  the  re 
porters  on  the  Voice." 

So  Elsa  went  to  the  desk  in  the  rear  of  the  room,  drew  a 
sheet  of  paper  before  her  and  did  perfunctory  things  with 
a  pen,  not  looking  up.  Charles  continued,  always  in  his 
voice  of  blessing: 

"  Helen,  you've  got  to  understand.  I  can't  bear  to  have 
you  with  me  now,  to  remind  me  of  what  I've  had,  make 
me  realize  what  I've  lost.  You  don't  want  to  weaken  me, 
do  you?  You  want  to  put  backbone  into  me?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Helen,  "  I  want  you  to  be  strong." 

"  Then  you'll  do  exactly  what  I  ask  you  now.  You 
don't  want  me  to  break  down  and  blubber,  do  you?  No! 
Then  this  is  what  you  do.  You  go  straight  home  again 
and  wait  till  morning.  Father's  coming  back  here  at 
half  past  eight.  You  come,  too,  and  we'll  all  three  go  out 
together,  and  when  you've  left  me  he'll  take  you  home 
again." 

"  You're  not  willing,"  she  hesitated,  "  to  have  me  go 
up  to  my  room  and  wait  there?  You  needn't  think  of  me. 
I  wouldn't  speak  to  you.  I  sha'n't  go  to  bed,  wherever  I 
am.  Let  me  stay,  Charles.  Let  me  be  near." 

"  Do  you  think  I  could  bear  it?  "  he  asked,  in  a  moving 


THE    BLACK    DROP  375 

voice.  "  In  this  house  —  with  everything  to  remind  us  — 
Helen,  go  back  there  and  come  to  me  in  the  morning  and 
I'll  bless  you  as  long  as  I  live." 

"  Very  well,"  she  said. 

She  got  up  and  he  helped  her  on  with  her  coat.  She 
looked  once  into  his  face  and  wished  his  mother  could  see 
him.  The  former  things  had  passed  away.  He  was 
clarified,  trembling  with  earnestness,  with  what  might  well 
be  consecration  to  his  awful  task. 

"  Mrs.  Davenport  will  help  me  through  with  my  ac 
counts,"  he  said,  smiling  now.  "  That's  a  matter  of  half 
an  hour  or  so.  Then  she'll  go.  Maybe  she'll  take  a 
train  out  of  town.  I  fancy  she'd  better  not  be  round  here 
for  a  while.  And  Helen  —  "  He  was  holding  her  hand 
and  leading  her  to  the  door.  The  touch  of  his  hand  was 
like  ice,  and  her  compassion  welled  again  for  him  — 
"  Helen,  don't  telephone  the  house.  I'm  horribly  afraid  of 
mother's  getting  hold  of  this." 

"  But  she'll  have  to,  in  the  end,"  Helen  said,  stopping  in 
the  hall  to  look  at  him  and  consider  this. 

"  Yes,  after  it's  over,  when  the  thing's  done,  decently, 
you  know,  in  order,  and  she's  got  something  to  hang  on  to, 
think  I  had  some  courage  at  the  last.  And  don't  answer 
any  telephone  calls  to-night.  Don't  let  Jessie." 

"  But,"  said  Helen,  "  something  might  happen.  It 
might  be  you." 

"  Nothing  is  going  to  happen  till  to-morrow  morning. 
And  then  you'll  be  here  and  dad'll  be  with  you.  Promise, 
dear." 

"  Yes,"  said  she.     "  I  promise." 

Now  he  was  with  her  on  the  step  outside.  A  man  stood 
on  the  pavement  across  the  street,  but  as  Charles  glanced 
at  him  he  lounged  along. 


376  THE    BLACK    DROP 

"  You're  sure  you  don't  mind  being  out  alone?  "  Charles 
asked  her,  going  with  her  down  the  steps. 

"  No,"  said  she.     "  I  don't  mind.     Good  night." 

And  though  he  could  not  see  her  face,  he  knew  the  tears 
had  flooded  it. 

"  I'll  watch  you,"  he  called  after  her,  in  a  voice  of  such 
good  cheer  that  she  wondered,  letting  her  sobs  come  now 
because  he  could  not  hear  them,  if  he  really  understood 
how  terrible  his  future  had  to  be.  She  was  amazed  at  his 
high  courage,  and  so  proud  of  him. 

But  Charles  did  not  watch  her,  except  intermittently. 
He  regarded  the  man  on  the  other  side  of  the  street  who 
was  walking  briskly  in  the  direction  Helen  went,  but  as  if 
he  had  a  purpose  now,  and  minding  it,  and  in  so  definite  a 
way  there  seemed  nothing  to  fear  from  him,  and  he  shut 
the  door  and  hurried  back  into  the  room  where  Elsa  was 
standing  in  the  middle  of  the  floor.  She  had  drawn  on 
her  gloves  and  held  a  letter,  sealed  and  stamped. 

"  Telephone  for  the  taxi,"  he  said,  "  for  God's  sake. 
And  while  it's  coming,  telephone  Schmidt  about  the  Voice. 
I'll  get  my  bag." 

He  ran  noiselessly  up  the  stairs  and,  with  no  delay,  ap 
peared  again.  Elsa  had  switched  off  the  light  in  the 
library.  But  before  she  did  it  she  stood  for  a  long 
minute  and  looked  up  at  Helen's  smiling  face.  "  Too 
bad !  "  she  said  aloud.  Then  recognition  of  the  unreason 
ing  cruelty  of  life  pressed  upon  her  with  such  weight, 
that  the  words  were  not  enough,  and  she  added,  "  Too 
damned  bad."  It  was  not  so  much  that  she  was  sorry  for 
Helen  or  sorry  for  herself,  as  that  a  sense  of  the  deface 
ment  of  things  came  upon  her,  the  travesty  that  lay  in  evil. 
It  was  the  revulsion  brought  by  country  stillnesses  or 
whispering  woods,  and  her  soul  lamented  for  a  moment 


THE    BLACK    DROP  377 

over  the  courts  of  light  it  had  left  behind.  Charles  found 
her  standing  in  the  hall,  and  suddenly  remembered  what 
it  was  grotesque  to  him  he  should  have  forgotten. 

"  Good  Lord!  "  he  said,  "  what's  to  be  done  about  him? 
He's  up  there  in  the  billiard  room." 

She  gave  the  letter  in  her  hand  a  little  flourish. 

"  I've  seen  to  that,"  she  said.  "  We'll  mail  it  at  the 
station." 

"What  is  it?     Who's  it  to?" 

"  Your  Helen.  I've  told  her  he's  here  and  she'll  let  him 
out.  And  I've  left  her  Polly." 

"  That  damned  bird?  "  exploded  Charles.  "  I  won't 
have  it  —  running  him  into  decent  people's  houses,  talk 
ing  German  all  over  the  place.  There's  the  taxi.  You  go 
on  out  and  I'll  fix  him." 

"  No,"  said  Elsa,  "  you  go  out.  Polly  isn't  going  to 
have  his  neck  wrung  to-night." 

Nor  would  she  leave  the  house  until  Charles  had  taken 
his  bag  and  gone  forth,  cursing  under  his  breath.  Then 
she  went  to  Polly,  lifted  his  cage  to  the  hall  table  out  of 
the  draft,  put  in  her  finger  and  "  scratched  a  poll." 

"  Good-bye,  old  dear,"  she  said.  "  Chances  are  you 
never'll  see  your  Henrietta  any  more." 

And  as  the  door  closed  behind  her  she  heard  the  parrot 
invoking  her  again  as  his  beloved  treasure  and  then,  as  if  in 
derision  of  all  the  sentimentalism  of  the  human  heart, 
chuckling,  "  O  law  !  law !  what  a  fuss !  " 


XXXVI 

WHEN  Norris  heard  the  click  of  the  lock  he  stood  there 
a  moment,  smiling  a  little  and  thinking,  after  his  old  hu 
morous  habit:  "It's  a  joke  on  me."  Then  he  put  his 
hands  in  his  pockets,  walked  back  and  forth  through  the 
room  and  finally  drew  a  chair  to  the  table  and  sat  down. 
Why  he  had  to  sit  at  the  table  he  did  not  reason ;  but  when 
he  was  there  he  knew.  It  was  that  he  might  set  his  elbows 
on  it  and  lean  his  head  in  his  hands.  Sitting  there,  he  did 
some  of  the  bitterest,  most  ironic  thinking  of  his  life. 
At  first  he  thought  how  this  interview  with  Charles  had 
looked  to  him  in  anticipation,  how  tragic  an  import  it  had 
borne,  and  how  he  had  even,  at  moments  of  rushing  emo 
tion  over  his  son,  believed  he  might  break  his  own  habit  of 
New  England  calm,  the  thin  ice  of  whimsy  and  indifference 
that  glassed  the  actual  depths  of  him,  and  surge  into  sup 
plication  and  entreaty.  He  smiled  again,  remembering 
how  he  had  once  even  foreseen  himself  making  a  dramatic 
appeal  involving  the  old  sword  hanging  over  the  fire 
place  at  Grasslands  and  adjuring  Charles  to  be  true  to 
the  traditions  of  his  race.  But  the  interview  had  passed 
off  like  the  realistic  first  act  of  a  modern  comedy,  though 
nothing  had  been  built  up  in  it  toward  the  climax  of  the 
play.  Simply  he  had  been  decoyed  into  a  room  —  and  this, 
too,  was  a  little  like  the  stage,  because  it  was  one  of  the 
hoariest  expedients  —  and  the  lock  clicked  on  him. 
And  all  because  he  had,  even  in  the  slightest  measure, 
trusted  Charles  to  behave  like  other  men,  and  had  omitted 
for  an  instant  to  carry  out  his  part  in  the  drama  of  cat 

378 


THE    BLACK    DROP  379 

and  mouse.  He  would  have  said,  if  he  had  foreseen  this 
moment,  that  his  heart  would  have  been  bitter  within  him 
because  this  was  only  an  intensifying  of  the  failure  at 
tendant  on  his  whole  life.  But  it  was  not  so.  He  took 
it  like  the  soldier  who,  having  enlisted,  must  meet  the 
fortunes  of  war,  kill  if  he  can,  be  killed  if  he  must.  He  had 
simply  made  the  choice  of  giving  up  his  son  to  justice 
because  no  sacrifice  was  too  great  for  national  safety  and 
his  own  honor,  and  his  son  had  snatched  the  sacrifice  from 
the  altar  and  given  it  to  the  dogs.  For  Charles  was  un 
questionably  on  his  way  to  concealment  and  somehow  the 
continued  service  of  things  evil. 

Sitting  there,  Norris  became  more  and  more  conscious 
of  the  gods :  for  there  seemed  now  more  than  the  One  God 
who  permits  these  lesser  ones  to  be,  but  holds  Himself 
afar  off  both  from  them  and  from  us,  in  His  clemency  and 
the  immovableness  of  His  just  wrath.  There  is  the  god 
which  is  justice  and  the  god  which  is  love  —  and  he  found 
no  weakness  of  tolerance  in  the  swift  feet  of  this  last  god 
—  and  there  is,  greatest  of  all,  the  god  which  is  the 
human  will.  And  he  saw  that  there  is  nothing  greater 
than  the  will  of  man  when  it  wills  good  and  nothing  so 
swift  on  the  road  leading  down  to  the  pit  as  the  soul  that 
wills  evil.  What  is  that  great  fire  which  is  made  by  the 
perpetual  feeding  of  things  evil?  What  is  it  warming? 
what  light  is  it  going,  in  the  end,  to  bring?  And  then, 
leaving  the  communion  of  the  lesser  gods,  he  worshipped 
the  One  God  in  his  heart  and  sat  up  resolute  and  calm. 

He  looked  about  the  room  as  if  he  had  slept  and  come 
awake,  and  as  his  eyes  ran  over  the  windows  and  their 
heavy  curtains,  he  remembered  Cross  and  how  he  had  done 
his  acrobatic  feat  of  listening,  and  it  occurred  to  him  he 
was  not  too  heavy  a  man  to  do  a  little  fine  work  himself 


380  THE    BLACK    DROP 

by  the  aid  of  gutters.  Could  he  get  out  of  this  last 
window  at  the  right  and  crawl  in  at  the  dormer  of  the 
little  room  which  had  been  Cross's  egress?  He  distinctly 
remembered  seeing  the  door  of  the  little  room,  as 
he  and  Charles  came  up  the  stairs,  and  it  was  open.  He 
had  thought  of  Cross,  at  the  time.  He  got  up  and  went  to 
the  right  hand  window,  drew  the  curtains  aside,  threw  up 
the  window  and  looked  out.  There  was  the  dormer  at  his 
right.  There  was  the  trusty  gutter  three  feet  below  and 
the  incline  to  it  was  gentle.  Instantly  he  decided  not  to 
spend  the  night  in  the  billiard  room.  He  was  pleasingly 
excited  at  the  thought  of  an  unconventional  exit.  Some 
how  he  seemed  to  be  vindicating  himself  slightly  if,  after 
the  foolishness  of  being  locked  up,  he  could  show  the  plain 
sense  of  getting  out.  He  put  his  leg  over  the  sill,  holding 
to  the  sash  above  him,  and  then  drew  out  the  other  leg 
and  tested  the  gutter  with  one  foot.  But  he  had  no  real 
doubt  of  it.  He  remembered  Cross's  quiet  asseveration 
that  it  had  been  reenf  orced.  He  edged  his  way  along  with 
out  difficulty,  reached  the  dormer,  put  his  right  hand  on 
the  side  to  support  himself  and,  with  his  left,  pushed  at  the 
window.  It  was  locked.  Had  he  anything  to  break  the 
glass,  anything  but  his  bare  fist?  Nothing,  it  seemed,  but 
the  pencil  in  his  pocket.  He  got  it  out  and  smashed 
through  the  middle  pane,  and,  with  the  ill-will  of  things 
mechanical,  the  pencil  made  only  an  ineffectual  hole.  He 
shut  his  eyes,  with  a  thought  of  splinters,  and  stabbed  at 
it  again  and  again,  to  the  sound  of  falling  glass.  "  What's 
that?  "  he  heard  from  a  window  somewhere  below  him. 
Another  window  was  put  up.  So  he  thrust  his  hand 
through  the  jagged  aperture,  unlocked  the  window,  threw 
it  up,  drew  himself  in  and  closed  it  again.  He  went  out 
into  the  dark  hall,  found  the  banisters  and  groped  his 


THE    BLACK   DROP  381 

way  down.  For  the  entire  hall  was  dark  from  top  to 
bottom,  and  when  he  found  the  button  on  the  ground  floor 
and  turned  on  the  light  a  voice  commented  angrily :  "  O 
law !  law !  what  a  fuss !  " 

Then  he  heard  a  key  in  the  lock  of  the  front  door  and, 
so  natural  is  it  for  human  nature  to  believe,  for  one  instant 
he  thought  Charles  had  repented  and  come  back.  The 
door  opened  and  a  man  stepped  in.  It  was  Cross.  Norris 
was  in  that  instant  of  assault  by  the  warmer  emotions  so 
taken  aback  that  his  face  must  have  changed,  in  some 
manner,  for  Cross  said  reassuringly : 

"  It's  all  right,  sir.  It's  only  me.  Why,  sir,"  he 
added,  with  a  quick  dart  at  his  old  helpfulness,  "  you've 
cut  your  hand.  I'll  run  up  to  Mr.  Charles's  room  and 
get  a  handkerchief  and  tie  it  up." 

Norris  stood  there  in  a  sick  indifference  while  Cross  ran 
up  the  stairs  and  came  back  with  bandages  and  pins  — 
not  Charles's  handkerchiefs  after  all,  but  a  roll  of  dress 
ings  from  Helen's  medicine  closet. 

"  If  you'll  just  come  back  here  to  the  pantry  where  I 
can  sponge  it  off,"  he  said,  and  Norris  followed  him  and 
stood  in  silence  while  Cross  worked  deftly,  encasing  the 
hand  in  a  bandage  absolutely  professional.  And  while  he 
worked,  he  talked. 

"  You  see,  sir,  I  knew  you  came  in  here  early  in  the 
evening  and  I  didn't  see  you  go  out  again.  So  I  concluded 
you  were  here  still.  And  I  thought  I'd  better  drop  in  and 
make  sure.  I've  got  a  key,  you  know." 

"  Mr.  Charles  has  gone,"  said  Norris,  in  a  voice  that 
sounded  indifferent  and  remote. 

He  wondered  if  it  was  the  sight  of  the  blood  that  was 
making  him  sick,  and  then  concluded  this  was  only  the 
sickness  of  life. 


382  THE    BLACK   DROP 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Cross  cheerfully.     "  I  saw  them  off." 

"  Saw  them  off?     Saw  who  off?  " 

He  felt  himself  coming  awake  again. 

"  Mr.  Charles,  sir,  and  Mrs.  Davenport." 

"  Saw  them  off  where?  " 

"  From  the  South  Station.  Turn  your  hand  a  little 
this  way,  sir.  Yes,  that's  right.  Yes,  sir.  You  see  I've 
been  outside  here  most  of  the  evening.  I  saw  you  come 
in.  Oh,  yes,  I  told  you  that.  I  saw  madam  come  and 
go  away  again  — 

"  Helen?  "  repeated  Norris  thickly  to  himself.  Had 
Helen  then,  in  spite  of  him,  been  in  it? 

"  I  went  up  the  street  a  little  way  to  see  she  got  home 
all  right,"  said  Cross,  apparently  more  absorbed  in  per 
suading  the  bandage  round  the  thumb  than  in  the  telling  of 
his  tale.  "  I'd  hardly  come  back  when  a  taxi  drove  up  and 
Mr.  Charles  and  Mrs.  Davenport  came  out  and  got  in. 
I  had  a  car  of  my  own  round  the  corner  here.  So  we 
followed  them,  my  man  and  I,  over  to  Mrs.  Davenport's, 
where  they  got  her  luggage.  I  shouldn't  have  said  that  sort 
of  a  lady  could  travel  with  so  little  luggage,  sir.  Amazing ! 
and  I  went  with  them  to  the  South  Station  and  hung  round 
there  till  they  took  their  train.  Yes,  sir,  they're  gone, 
sir,  quite  gone." 

He  spoke,  Norris  idly  thought,  as  if  they  might  have 
been  expected  to  go  by  instalments  and  that  it  was  an 
inexpressible  mercy  they  had  gone  intact,  "  quite  gone." 

"But  where?"  he  asked  stupidly,  "where  have  they 
gone?  " 

"  New  York,  sir.  After  that  I  couldn't  say.  There, 
sir,  I  think  we  might  consider  that  finished." 

He  cleared  up  the  traces  of  his  work,  always  deftly  and 
in  haste,  and  Norris  stood  and  watched  him  absently. 


THE    BLACK   DROP  383 

Finally  he  asked  the  question  that  was  struggling  from 
the  confusion  of  his  tired  mind. 

"  But,  Cross,  you  said  he  was  by  far  the  most  dangerous 
of  the  men  working  against  the  war,  you  implied  —  you 
said  —  Here  he  stopped. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Cross  briskly.  "  I  did  mean  to  have 
him  hauled  up.  But  then,  sir,  there's  madam.  When  I 
think  of  madam  —  and  don't  you  think  yourself,  sir,  it's 
just  as  well  to  feel  he's  getting  off  to  New  York,  even  if 
it  is  with  the  lady,  sir —  oh,  I  don't  stand  for  the  lady, 
sir,  any  more  than  you  do,  sir  —  I  think  of  madam  there. 
But  what  must  be,  must.  And  it  isn't  beyond  belief,  sir, 
Mr.  Charles  has  got  his  warning  and  he'll  go  and  sin  no 
more." 

Cross  uttered  this  last  with  quite  a  flourish,  as  if  he  felt 
a  scriptural  phrase  might  be  expected  to  clinch  his  argu 
ment.  But  he  did  not  tell  Norris,  nor  did  he  ever  tell  him, 
that  the  man  whom  he  referred  to  so  meagrely  as  his 
man,  waiting  in  the  car  for  him,  had  also  gone  to  New 
York,  and  that,  on  arriving,  Charles  and  Mrs.  Davenport 
would  walk  into  his  custody.  And  furthermore  Cross 
knew  that  if  all  went  well,  if  justice  worked  according  to 
the  stern  formula  just  men  expected  of  her,  nothing  would 
be  heard  of  the  two  for  a  long  time.  They  would  be 
swallowed  up,  put,  in  some  fashion,  where  they  could  do  no 
harm  to  the  foundations  of  organized  life,  and  Norris 
Tracy  need  not  remember  he  had  conspired  against  his 
son.  For,  so  far  as  Norris  was  concerned,  the  whole 
issue  would  be  blurred  by  circumstance.  Cross,  being  at 
this  time  the  only  one  who  knew  with  what  a  weariness 
of  will  Norris  Tracy  had  hung  to  the  task  of  rendering 
his  son  harmless  to  the  state,  was  the  one  who  was  bent 
on  protecting  him  from  his  own  remorses. 


384  THE    BLACK   DROP 

"  Now,  sir,"  said  he  briskly,  "  I've  got  to  clean  up  things 
a  little.  Why,  sir,  you  really  did  lose  quite  an  amount, 
and  we  don't  want  blood  stains  on  the  stairs.  Nobody 
knows  who'll  be  in  here  next.  Yes,  sir,  if  you  please,  just 
sit  down  there  in  the  hall  chair.  I'll  turn  on  this  light 
and  make  it  a  little  more  cheerful,  sir." 

The  light  flashing  out  in  the  library  seemed  to  Norris 
to  have  rushed  in  for  the  one  purpose  of  summoning 
Helen's  face  from  the  dark,  and  perhaps  to  Cross,  also, 
for  he  paused  an  instant  and  looked  up  at  it  before  turn 
ing  to  his  task  upstairs.  And  as  Norris  saw  his  face 
the  instant  after,  he  felt  it  would  not  have  been  surprising 
if  the  man  had  crossed  himself.  So  Norris  sat  there  and 
looked  at  Helen  and  also  regarded  life  which  was  her  back 
ground,  and  soon  Cross  appeared,  after  his  brisk  activi 
ties,  sought  about  for  Norris's  coat  and  hat  and  helped 
him  on  with  them  and  they  turned  to  go.  And  the  parrot, 
waked  again,  yelled  irascibly :  "  Henrietta !  Henri  — 
etta,"  in  his  oratorical  exactness  making  two  words 
of  it. 

Norris  paused. 

"  Whose  bird  is  that?  "  he  inquired.  "  They  never  had 
a  parrot,  to  my  knowledge." 

"  No,  sir,"  said  Cross,  so  pleasantly  explanatory  that 
it  almost  seemed  he  commiserated  Charles  for  not  being 
fortunate  enough  to  possess  so  rare  a  treasure,  "  I'm  quite 
sure  it  wasn't  Mr.  Charles's.  In  fact,  I  know  it  wasn't." 

"  Well,"  said  Norris,  still  hesitating,  "  it's  got  to  be 
looked  after,  I  suppose.  Hadn't  I  better  take  the  infernal 
thing  home  with  me?  " 

It  was  Polly's  dark  destiny  to  inspire  the  same  senti 
ments  everywhere,  to  evoke  according  adjectives :  from  all 
save  one,  his  Henrietta. 


THE    BLACK   DROP  385 

"  I  should  think  it  would  be  a  most  excellent  plan," 
said  Cross.  "  Especially  as  we  don't  know  who'll  be  in 
here  next.  One  moment,  sir.  They're  very  delicate,  I 
believe,  very  susceptible  to  cold." 

He  disappeared  into  the  next  room  and  came  back  with 
a  heavy  travelling  rug,  and  in  this  he  enveloped  Polly's 
cage.  Then  he  turned  off  the  lights  and,  carrying  Polly 
with  a  steady  hand,  ran  down  the  steps  after  Norris  and 
walked  on  with  him.  They  said  good-night,  at  Norris's 
door,  and  there  halted  an  instant,  each  with  thoughts 
that  met  and  hesitated  and  actually  could  not  be  spoken. 
Cross  was  full  of  commiseration  and  Norris  of  gratitude 
for  it.  But  what  could  be  said?  Norris  put  out  his  hand 
and  Cross  took  it  and  as  quickly  let  it  go. 

"  Good  night,  sir,"  he  said  again. 

Norris  let  himself  in,  and  his  first  glance  at  the  lighted 
front  room  gave  him  Emily  sitting  there,  very  comfortable, 
it  seemed,  with  a  book.  She  evidently  meant  to  give  the 
impression  of  being  simply  too  cosy  to  go  to  bed.  He  put 
down  the  cage  on  the  floor  and  walked  in  to  her.  She 
looked  up  with  a  sort  of  absent-minded  surprise,  as  if  she 
had  not  expected  him  so  soon.  But  that,  he  knew,  was  the 
art  of  it.  She  was  not  going  to  nag  him  by  the  shadow  of 
an  implication  it  was  for  him  she  waited.  At  this  later 
day  of  his  own  greater  needs,  he  was  beginning  to  find  her 
out.  But  he  had  his  minute  of  exasperation.  It  was  when 
he  saw  that  the  book  she  laid  down  on  the  sofa  beside  her 
—  and  with  no  mark  in  it  at  all  —  was  one  of  his.  He 
picked  it  up,  and  threw  it,  with  a  careful  aim,  to  the  very 
end  of  the  next  room. 

"  Emily,"  said  he,  "  you  are  a  pearl  among  women,  but 
if  you  ask  me  how  I've  cut  my  hand  and  why  I've  come 
home  with  a  parrot  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  I'll  cram  you 
2c 


386  THE    BLACK    DROP 

into  a  burlap  bag  and  chuck  you  into  the  Bosphorus. 
And  see  how  you'll  like  that." 

Emily  was  gazing  at  him  in  what  seemed  merely  a  con 
ventional  interest. 

"Where  is  the  parrot?  "  she  inquired. 

"  Out  there  in  the  hall,  done  up  in  a  rug." 

"  Don't  you  think,"  said  she,  "  I'd  better  put  him  in  the 
dining  room?  It's  warmer  there." 

She  went  into  the  hall,  took  off  the  rug,  noting  mentally 
that  it  had  Helen's  initials  embroidered  in  the  corner, 
spoke  cheerfully  and  quite  professionally  to  Polly,  and 
carried  him  off  into  the  dining  room.  There  she  wasted  no 
time  over  him,  but  came  back,  told  Norris  there  were 
sandwiches  and  beer  out  there  on  the  table,  and  said  she'd 
leave  him  now  and  run  up  to  bed.  And  he  must  be  sure 
to  turn  off.  So  they  had  no  words  or  domestic  queer- 
nesses  ;  only  Norris,  who  slept  a  sleep  fathoms  deep,  con 
cluded  in  the  morning,  from  her  look,  that  she  hadn't 
slept  at  all.  Had  she?  he  asked  her. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Emily,  the  keeper  of  her  own  ways, 
"  I  guess  so." 

After  the  three  had  finished  their  late  breakfast,  they 
lingered  at  the  table  while  Norris  concluded  a  tale  he  had 
embarked  on  midway  in  the  meal  when  he  became  rather 
acutely  conscious  of  John's  interest  in  his  bandaged  hand. 
He  knew  he  had  got  to  account  for  the  hand  and  for  the 
parrot,  or  suffer  to  the  end  of  time  the  intermittent 
heckling  of  John  who,  in  the  ways  of  domestic  serenity, 
was  not  his  mother's  son.  In  the  parrot  John  was  taking 
a  fearful  joy,  quite  unable  to  let  Polly  alone,  clucking 
at  him,  adjuring  him  to  speak,  getting  up  to  thrust  a 
coaxing  finger  through  the  bars  and  prudently  withdraw 
ing  it.  For  Polly  lost  no  time  in  sidling  toward  it  with 


THE    BLACK    DROP  387 

so  vicious  an  eye  and  such  fell  purpose  in  it  as  John 
found  he  had  not  the  nerve  to  meet.  Polly,  in  his  day, 
had  seen  all  sorts  of  men  and  had  concluded  that  there  was 
nothing  to  this  human  brood,  except,  indeed,  his  Henrietta. 

Norris  amazed  himself  by  the  sense  of  exhilaration  he 
could  pump  up,  this  morning.  He  had  meant  to  do  a  deed 
of  justice  that  would  cost  him  all  his  earthly  peace,  and 
he  had  failed.  Was  he  glad  he  had  failed?  No,  for  he 
could  scarcely  face  the  misery  of  believing  Charles  was 
still  at  large,  poisoning  the  good  earth  under  the  slime  of 
treachery  and  ill-will.  His  physical  uplift,  he  thought, 
was  due  solely  to  the  memory  of  having  climbed  out  of 
a  window,  broken  another  window  and  escaped  ignomin 
ious  confinement.  Not  only  must  he  account  to  John 
for  the  queerness  of  last  night,  but  he  did  wish  he  might 
deflect  Emily  a  little  from  her  own  particular  track 
of  surmise :  for  he  had  no  doubt  she  saw  Charles,  through 
those  extraordinary  lenses  of  hers,  directed  on  the  family 
obliquities,  as  clearly  as  he  did.  So  he  branched  out  into 
the  story  of  the  parrot,  and  presently  found  he  was  taking 
an  artistic  satisfaction  in  it.  There  was  a  sailor  con 
nected  with  it.  He  had  met  the  sailor  on  the  way  to  the 
club,  and  the  sailor  had  invited  him  down  to  his  ship, 
a  fruit  steamer,  twice  torpedoed,  in  from  the  Azores,  and 
they'd  had  supper  on  board. 

"What  d'you  drink?"  inquired  John,  his  gaze  glued 
to  Polly's  cage  where,  as  if  bent  on  unholy  fascination, 
the  creature  clawed  and  sidled. 

"  Mead,"  said  Norris  mildly.  "  That  was  with  the 
first  course.  Then  there  was  poppy  and  mandragora. 
But  that  didn't  begin  to  get  in  its  work  till  I  got  home. 
And  the  sailor  —  his  name  was  five-fingered  Jack  —  drank 
like  a  fish  —  " 


388  THE    BLACK    DROP 

"  I  thought,"  said  Emily  innocently,  "  we  all  had  five 
fingers.  Don't  we  count  the  thumb?  " 

"Yes,"  said  Norris,  "that  was  the  queer  part  of  it. 
I  gathered  he'd  been  living  with  a  tribe  that  had  an  even 
number  on  each  hand." 

Then  he  told  how  he  and  the  sailor  swore  blood  brother 
hood,  and  he  gave  the  sailor  a  nickel  for  a  pocket  piece, 
and  the  sailor  gave  him  the  parrot,  and  then  got  quarrel 
some  and  tried  to  chuck  him  through  a  port-hole,  and,  in 
the  scrimmage,  of  course  they  both  caught  up  anything 
they  could  find,  tumblers  and  knives  and  warming-pans 
and  that  was  how  he  cut  his  hand  — 

"  See  here,  dad,"  said  John,  tearing  his  delighted  gaze 
from  Polly  long  enough  to  regard  his  father  shrewdly, 
because  this  was  so  very  thin  a  bluff  he  suspected  some 
thing  under  it,  "  you  must  have  come  home  well  pickled 
and  you  haven't  got  over  it  yet.  D'you  see  him,  mum, 
last  night?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Emily,  with  composure.  "  I  happened  to 
be  up." 

"  How'd  he  look?  " 

"  Much  as  usual,"  said  Emily.  "  I  believe  I'd  better 
go  round  to  that  shop  where  they  have  parrots  and  ask 
what  they  feed  them  on." 

"  Well,"  said  John,  "  if  I  turned  in  such  an  Odyssey  of 
a  new  Arabian  Night  you'd  say  I'd  been  on  a  particularly 
complicated  and  highly  colored  bat.  Hullo !  there  she 
is." 

"Who?"  asked  Emily. 

"  Jessie,  of  course." 

John  was  out  of  his  chair  and  stood  an  instant  to  listen, 
the  color  flooding  his  face. 

"  It's  Helen,"  said  Norris,  also  getting  up  and  chilled  to 


THE    BLACK   DROP  389 

the  heart.  No  poor  dribble  of  nonsense  was  going  to  serve 
him  now. 

They  came  in,  Helen  haggard  in  spite  of  the  freshness 
of  the  outdoor  air,  and  Jessie  reflecting  her.  Helen  was 
grief  itself.  Its  marks  were  about  her  mouth  and  eyes, 
and  Jessie's  face  wore  an  anxiety  deepened  into  fright. 
Helen  did  not  stop  for  a  look  at  Emily  or  for  one  perfunc 
tory  word  of  greeting.  She  went  straight  to  Norris  and 
he  put  out  both  hands  to  her.  But  she  did  not  give  him 
hers.  It  was  not,  it  could  be  seen,  because  she  was  repuls 
ing  him,  but  because  she  simply  did  not  see  they  needed  to 
greet  each  other  in  any  way.  Hardly  did  she  take  him 
in  at  all,  except  as  the  one  figure  wherein  lay  hope  of  her 
enlightenment. 

"  He  is  gone,"  she  said. 

"  Yes,"  said  Norris.     "  He  went  last  night." 

Now  Emily  got  up  and  came  to  Norris,  standing  a  little 
behind  him  and  watching  Helen.  John  drew  Jessie  back 
a  step  from  Helen's  side,  so  that  he  could  get  her  hand  in 
his,  and  remind  her  that,  though  love  might  be  dead  before 
them,  here  in  their  two  hands  they  were  keeping  it 
alive.  Jessie  caught  her  breath,  and  he  could  feel  her 
trembling. 

"  He  asked  me,"  Helen  went  on,  "  to  go  home  last  night 
and  come  to  him  this  morning.  And  I  went.  And  the 
house  was  empty.  Even  that  parrot  in  the  hall  —  " 

Here  Polly,  less  bird  than  wanton  spirit,  John  learned 
suddenly,  shrieked  from  the  cage,  "  Henri  —  etta !  "  and 
Helen  started,  gave  a  quick  "  oh  "  of  repugnance  and  went 
on  : 

"  I  searched  all  over  the  house.  There  was  nobody 
there.  Then  I  went  home.  And  there  was  a  letter.  It 
had  come  while  I  was  gone." 


390  THE    BLACK   DROP 

She  thrust  it  at  him  and  Norris  read  the  two  lines  in 
silence. 

"  She  wants  you  to  let  me  out,"  he  said.  "  Well,  I  got 
out  myself.  And  she  asks  you  to  take  the  parrot.  And 
the  parrot's  here." 

"  I  want  to  know,"  Helen  went  on  steadily,  "  this  one 
thing.  Was  he  taken  away  from  there  —  or  did  he  go?  " 

"  He  went,"  said  Norris  gravely.  Again  he  had  the 
sense  of  being  lifted  and  borne  along  on  a  great  wave  of 
obligation:  to  tell  these  things,  to  tell  them  quietly,  and 
to  carry  his  family  with  him  into  some  calm  beyond  the 
storm.  He  turned  to  his  wife  and  took  her  hand  in  his. 
So  he  stood,  holding  it  as  John  held  Jessie's ;  and  Helen, 
not  from  any  lack  in  their  deep  love  for  her,  but  because 
that  other  love  had  failed  her,  was  alone. 

"  Emily,"  he  said,  "  we're  talking  about  Charles.  He 
has  done  things  against  the  law.  I  told  you  that  before. 
Helen  and  I  both  knew  he  was  likely  to  be  arrested.  But 
he  has  not  been  arrested.  He  has  got  away." 

Emily's  hand  in  his  gave  a  sudden  start,  as  if  a  hand 
might  have  a  heart  of  its  own  and  leap  to  quickened 
beating;  but  she  said,  with  a  calmness  that  amazed  him, 
even  from  her : 

"  You'd  rather  have  him  punished." 

"Would  you?  "  Norris  asked  her,  because  it  seemed  as 
if  the  question  in  return  might  hurt  her  less. 

Emily  hesitated  a  moment.     Then  she  answered : 

"  Yes,  Norris.  If  you  think  he  must  be  punished,  I 
think  so,  too." 

Helen,  in  this  moment,  was  waiting  to  lay  her  last 
doubt. 

"  Father  "  —  she  was  using  that  word  now  —  "  did  he 
go  alone?  " 


THE    BLACK    DROP  391 

"  No,"  said  Norris,  not  hesitating.  "  She  went  with 
him." 

"  Then,"  said  Helen,  "  I  can  forgive  you  for  not  telling 
me  you  were  going  to  him  last  night." 

She  snatched  up  the  two  hands,  Norris's  with  Emily's 
in  its  clasp,  kissed  them  both  and  held  them  a  moment  in 
her  own.  Then  she  dropped  them  and  ran  out  of  the 
room,  and  they  heard  her  footsteps  flying  up  the  stairs. 
There  was  a  breath  of  easement  from  them  all. 

"  She's  gone  up  to  grandsir,"  Norris  said,  and  Emily 
gave  a  little  inarticulate  sound  of  assent. 

"  Mother,"  said  John,  in  a  tone  he  tried  to  soften  into 
some  likeness  to  his  own  voice,  it  sounded  so  thick  and 
strange,  "  here's  Jessie.  Jessie  and  I  —  can't  you  say 
something  to  Jessie,  mother?  " 

But  while  Emily,  who  needed  no  more  than  that,  left 
Norris  and  came  forward  to  draw  Jessie  up  to  her,  John 
dropped  Jessie's  hand  and  threw  himself  into  a  chair  at 
the  table,  pushed  back  his  cup  and  plate,  laid  his  arms  on 
the  table  and  dropped  his  head  upon  them. 

"  Oh,  damn  Charles  Tracy  !  "  he  cried,  in  that  strangled 
voice.  "  Damn  him !  damn  him !  " 

And  now,  he  savagely  knew,  he  was,  not  in  anger  but 
from  something  the  family  only  could  mysteriously  under 
stand,  crying  over  Charles. 

Grandsir  was  in  bed,  his  breakfast  tray  on  the  table 
beside  him,  the  morning  paper  littered  over  the  coverlet. 
He  was  listening.  In  the  whiteness  of  his  bed,  he  looked 
older  and  more  delicate  than  in  daytime  dress.  But  the 
frail  fabric  of  his  being  did  not  call  upon  the  eye  for  pity. 
It  cried  aloud  that  this  dissolving  mortality  was,  through 
its  very  weakness,  proving  itself  the  spirit's  friend ;  for 
when  its  ruin  should  be  accomplished,  then  the  grateful 


392  THE    BLACK   DROP 

v 

spirit  could  wing  forth.  Helen,  in  her  one  blinded  glance  at 
him  thought  she  had  never  seen  anything  so  triumphantly 
strong  and  stern  and  glorious  as  grandsir's  face.  Yet  it 
was  not  now  she  thought  it:  only  gathered  up  the  look  of 
it  as  one  might  snatch  a  leaf  in  running,  and  find  out 
afterward  its  healing  grace.  Now  she  felt  only  her  haste 
to  get  to  him.  She  sank  on  her  knees  by  the  bedside  and 
put  her  cheek  against  his  hand. 

"  Has  he  gone?  "  grandsir  asked  her,  in  the  firm,  curt 
tone  of  a  man  at  his  best. 

"  Yes."  said  Helen.     "  How  did  you  know?  " 

"  I  knew  it  last  night,"  said  grandsir.  "  You  can  say 
I  dreamt  it,  if  you  like.  Helen,  he's  death.  He  belongs 
to  the  things  that  rot  and  mix  with  the  earth  and  sink 
away:  and  queer  enough  it  is,  but  out  of  their  rotting 
maybe  something  blooms  at  last.  You  be  the  thing  that 
blooms,  Helen.  You're  life,  just  as  he  is  death.  Promise 
me  you'll  be  the  thing  that  blooms." 

"  Yes,"  said  she  faintly,  clinging  to  his  hand  and  feeling 
as  if  she  had  the  very  tree  of  life  upholding  her.  And 
then  again  she  asked  the  old  question,  younger  than  none 
since  Pilate's:  "  Grandsir,  wh.at  is  love?  " 


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/rTvHE  following  pages  contain  advertisements 
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MISS   ALICE    BROWN'S   BOOKS 


The  Flying  Teuton  and  Other  Stories 

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" '  The  Flying  Teuton  '  is  the  best  short  story  that  has  come  out  of  this  war 
as  yet  in  either  English  or  American  magazines.  Accepting  the  old  legend 
of  the  Flying  Dutchman,  Miss  Brown  has  imagined  it  reembodied  in  a 
modern  setting,  and  out  of  the  ironies  of  this  situation  a  most  dramatic 
story  results,  with  a  sure  and  true  message  for  the  American  people. 

"It  is  in  my  opinion  one  of  the  five  best  short  stories  of  the  year.'1 

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"There  is  no  American  novelist  doing  better  work  these  days  than  is 
Alice  Brown."  —  Pittsburgh  Post. 

''Alice  Brown  has  forged  ahead  until  she  stands  with  the  best  and  greatest. 
She  is  very  daring;  she  defies  all  prejudices,  but  she  is  simply  delightful." 
—  Chicago  Post. 

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Children  of  Earth 

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This  is  the  ten  thousand  dollar  American  prize  play.  From  thousands 
of  manuscripts  submitted  to  Mr.  Ames  of  the  Little  Theater,  Miss  Brown's 
was  chosen  as  being  the  most  notable,  both  in  theme  and  characterization. 
Miss  Brown  has  a  large  following  as  novelist  and  short  story  writer,  and 
her  play  exhibits  those  rare  qualities  of  writing  and  those  keen  analyses  of 
human  motives  which  have  given  her  eminence  in  other  forms  of  literature. 

"A  page  from  the  truly  native  life  of  the  nation,  magnificently  written." 
— •  New  York  Tribune. 

"Ranks  with  the  best  achievements  of  the  American  theater."  —  Boston 
Transcript. 

"Apple-trees  and  larkspur  and  lilacs  in  bloom,  shimmering  gowns  and 
rose-trimmed  bonnets  of  an  older  time,  sap  mounting  and  everything  break 
ing  bounds  because  of  springtime  and  love  in  New  England,  —  all  this  adds 
charm  to  the  graceful  manner  in  which  Miss  Alice  Brown  has  presented  her 
theme  in  the  play,  '  Children  of  Earth.' "  —  The  Dial. 


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The  Prisoner 


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This  novel  of  Alice  Brown's  is  one  of  her  most  ambitious,  and  the  most 
important  of  her  contributions  to  literature.  "  The  Prisoner  "  is  a  man  re 
leased  from  a  term  of  penal  servitude,  returned  to  the  world,  to  his  father, 
wife  and  sisters.  His  relations  with  them,  as  well  as  theirs  to  each  other 
are  subjects  to  which  the  author  devotes  her  keen  insight,  her  ability  to 
analyze  mental  states  and  to  present  to  her  readers  subtle  complexities  of 
thought  and  of  motive.  She  writes  with  a  charm  of  manner  quite  her  own, 
easily  and  clearly,  with  a  wealth  of  atmosphere  and  an  absorbing  interest 
of  plot  that  carry  the  reader  through  to  the  end  of  the  book. 


The  Road  to  Castaly 

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Readers  of  "  Children  of  Earth,  "and  of  many  other  of  Miss  Brown's  books 
for  that  matter,  must  have  seen  many  an  evidence  about  them  of  the  really 
natural  poet.  Some  years  ago,  furthermore,  she  published  a  little  collec 
tion  of  verse  which  was  warmly  received  by  the  critics,  and  which  served  to 
intensify  the  desire  for  more.  This  volume,  then,  will  be  welcome  to  Miss 
Brown's  admirers,  and  to  literature  lovers  generally.  It  contains  the  earlier 
poems  referred  to,  which  were,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  also  issued  under  the 
title  of  "  The  Road  to  Castaly,"  and  much  new  material  as  well  —  the  poet's 
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finish  and  fitting  mode."  —  Chicago  Herald. 


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My  Love  and  I 

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subtly  calls  forth  and  displays  the  nobilities  of  human  nature  that  respond 
to  suffering."  —  Argonaut. 

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human  heart."  —  The  Bookman. 


Bromley  Neighborhood 

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It  is  as  the  novelist  of  New  England  that  Alice  Brown  has  won  the  hearts 
of  thousands  of  readers.  Few  writers  have  been  able  to  portray  with  the 
sympathy  and  the  understanding  that  are  hers  the  sturdy  folk  "way  down 
east"  or  to  picture  so  truly  the  environment  in  which  they  have  lived. 

Particularly,  '  Bromley  Neighborhood '  has  to  do  with  the  Neales,  the  hard, 
unflinching  head  of  the  house;  Mary,  his  wife,  who  in  her  long  life  with 
him  revolts  only  once  at  the  law  which  he  lays  down,  and  their  two  sons 
—  Ben,  likeable  but  weak,  and  Hugh,  a  bit  of  a  visionary,  but  guided  by 
high  ideals,  a  thorough  man.  Of  equal  importance  in  the  little  drama  that 
is  worked  out  is  Ellen,  daughter  of  a  neighbor,  who  shuns  men's  society,  to 
whom  the  word  love  is  almost  repulsive,  but  to  whom  love  comes  in  a  moment 
and  forever.  These  are  some  of  the  characters  in  '  Bromley  Neighborhood  ' 
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"A  tale  of  buoyant  optimism."  —  Boston  Transcript. 

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"The  author  shows  an  unfailing  understanding  of  the  heart  of  girlhood." 
—  Christian  Advocate. 

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